synopsis and info!

**Mail order wife, Rebecca Smallwood leads a boring life on her wealthy husband’s Wyoming ranch. She deals with his daily remarks and annoyance toward her inability to provide him with a child–the one reason he paid a high price for her and the one requirement of her new life.

**Brantley Mitchell has never known a day without danger. Born into outlaw life, fighting for survival is all he knows–that’s why being hold up with a busted arm has made him more than a little riled. Then the gang rides in with the latest money making scheme.. a hostage that’s all his to watch over.

**Rebecca is terrified of her captor. Not for any of the logical reasons such as his ability to cause her a great deal of pain or kill her. No, she’s terrified because of the desire that flares to life within her every time she looks into those dark gray eyes.

**How will Rebecca survive her captivity and how will she ever return to her husband and look him in the eye after she’s had a taste of captive romance?

A/N: Hey y’all! I’ll be working on this story as well! My photobucket is still not working properly so i can’t edit the cover or add the title :( 

But this story will be a fun one, full of naughtiness :) Definitely will be a mature rating once it gets going! 

Love y’all

Nicole

Chapter One

Chapter One

Wyoming 1887

Birds sang their pleasant songs. Butterflies fluttered on the gentle spring breeze and bees buzzed quietly among the garden flowers. It was a beautiful day with comfortable weather, making the veranda a would-be place to spend the early afternoon.

      But Rebecca was not enjoying the heavenly day—as a matter of fact, she felt very much as if she were in hell. 

      For today the proof had come that, once again, Rebecca had failed to get a child in her womb. And Martin had been quite vocal about his disappointment. He tended to forget, in his own displeasure, that it was a disappointment for Rebecca as well. 

      That's why she had been relieved when the man had left for a meeting in town. It meant she would have a few hours without his moping over her lack of pregnancy. A few hours to deal with her own emotions over her barren womb. 

      Rebecca did not have a bad life. She lived in a magnificent home on a sprawling ranch. She had all the finer things in life. Clothes, jewelry, baubles and trinkets. There were maids and servants and not a single household duty rested on her shoulders.

      No, she didn't have a bad life—she simply had no real life at all.  

      Rebecca had not been born into this life. She'd been born out east to much different circumstances. Her parents had been dirt floor poor in their pitiful shack with rickety walls that hadn't offered any real protection from winter winds. 

      Her father had worked himself into an early grave; he'd only been thirty-two when his heart had given out. Rebecca's mother, very old before her time, had struggled for four years before realizing she could not provide for her three children any longer. 

      Rebecca, sixteen then, had been the oldest and the only girl. It had been with tears in her tired brown eyes, that Rebecca's mother had informed her she'd been purchased by a wealthy Wyoming rancher. It would provide her mother and brothers with money to survive as well as give Rebecca a better life than she'd ever have at home. 

      And so, at sixteen, Rebecca had left everything she knew behind and become a wife. Now, eight years later, she felt her husband's disappointment grow daily. 

      Martin was nearing forty. He had married her for one reason—to give him children. So far she had failed magnificently at that task. 

      Thanks to the doctor saying she needed a life without any excitement or stress to help her conceive, boredom had become her every day. She had no real friends, simply acquaintances through her husband. They were all terribly rich and stuffy folk and Rebecca knew they looked down their noses at Martin's store-bought wife from the slums. 

      She wasn't even allowed to help with the daily chores or tend to the animals as that would be actions far below her new station. 

      And, so, she sat. Day in and day out, sipping tea and wishing she could get with child. It would make Martin so happy—and herself as well. A little boy or girl to see to and care for. A beautiful babe to love and cherish just as her parents had loved her. 

      "Isn't that a lovely smile?" Martin's voice interrupted her thoughts. 

      Rebecca turned her head slightly to see him stepping onto the veranda with guests behind him—his two best friends Horace and Lester and their wives Sara and Marie. 

      It seemed her peaceful day was over, but honestly, she didn't mind. With company around, Martin may not dwell too much on the mornings events and she would have a bit of conversation for several hours. 

      Rebecca stood quickly. "Hello darling," she greeted as Martin kissed her cheek. "I didn't expect you home so soon." 

      Martin smiled as he stood beside her and put his arm around her waist lovingly. "Business ended early and I thought it was time we had guests. You haven't had company in a long while." 

      Rebecca smiled her thanks. Her husband truly was a good and decent man and he truly cared for her. Rebecca cared for him as well. 

      She graciously greeted their guests and everyone settled down together on the veranda. Their servant Tillie rushed off to get tea for the newcomers. 

      After a long while of polite conversation, Sara cleared her throat. "Rebecca, we've been attempting to convince your husband to come to town next Friday. They are going to be putting on a splendid performance at the theater and I believe you'd enjoy it." 

      Rebecca smiled. "Oh, that would be fun!" She laid an eager hand on Martin's arm. "We haven't gone to the theater in over a year." 

      Martin's blue eyes were hesitant as he looked at her. "The doctor recommended you rest, dear. He said that rest might help." 

      Rebecca winced. She knew their guests would know all about her failures as a wife. Martin was a man who didn't see anything as personal and would openly discuss anything. 

      "Darling, please," she implored, batting her lashes. "The doctor also said melancholy could 

hinder us. I need an evening out with you away from the ranch.“

      "Come on, Martin!" Lester insisted. "Let the poor girl out awhile." 

      "Yeah," Horace winked. "Giving women what they want now and then can lead to wonders in the bedroom." 

      While Lester and Horace chuckled, their wives swatted their arms and fanned their faces with indignation. Rebecca merely wished she could curl up in a ball and disappear. 

      Martin rubbed at his chin, his gaze never leaving her. "Will a night out truly make you happy? You've been so down as of late." 

      "It will," she admitted. She knew the only thing that would make her the happiest would be to become a mother but that simply did not seem to be in her cards. She 

had to find a way to be happy without that, and to make Martin happy despite her failures. She had to be a good wife to him in every way that she could.

      Martin sighed and laid a tender hand on her cheek before nodding. "It should be a wonderful evening."

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

      What Rebecca had hoped would be an enjoyable evening with her husband, quickly proved to be quite different. 

      Martin had spent the entire evening in a separate theater box as he had smoked, drank and chatted with his friends and business associates. 

      Rebecca had been forced to sit with the other wealthy women of the town in their own box and had felt quite out of place. These women were all nearly twice her age, or more, and they had been raised in the world of wealth and prestige. None of them had much in common with Rebecca and she always found herself struggling to converse with or relate to them. 

      The show was a good one, at least. Full of comedy and laughs—both of which Rebecca had been needing. When the show had ended and she left her box, Martin was waiting for her in the hall. He held out his arm and she took it. "Did you enjoy the show?" he asked. 

      "Yes," Rebecca replied honestly. "Though, I wish we could have watched it together." 

      The look on Martin's face made Rebecca feel as if she were no more than a petulant child. She hated when Martin treated her that way. "You wanted to come to the theater and I brought you. You cannot sit around the men smoking and drinking. That would be highly inappropriate. And you can't honestly expect me to sit with you women. All that gossiping and cackling." He winked, clearly hoping to amuse her. 

      Rebecca forced a smile. "No, of course not." 

      They 

could have sat together in the main theater seating but that would have been unacceptable to Martin. Both because those seats were made for common folk and because his friends might grow offened if he didn’t join them.

      "Are we going to dinner together?" Rebecca asked hopefully. 

      Martin frowned. "I didn't realize you wanted to. I'm sorry, darling. I already made plans with the men." 

      Rebecca sighed inwardly as her heart fell. Of course he had. And asking him to change those plans would be quite pointless. 

      "Don't pout," he scolded as they stepped out of the theater. "If going to dinner means so much to you, we can come into town tomorrow and dine together." 

      Rebecca swallowed her disappointment and nodded. "I would enjoy that." 

      She knew asking more from the man would merely be ungrateful. She had a far better life with him as her husband than she would have had without. 

      Martin patted her hand. "Felix will see you home," he said, motioning toward the waiting buckboard and his faithful driver. 

      Rebecca allowed Martin to help her onto the seat. "Get her home safe, Felix." 

      "I will, Mr. Smallwood, sir," Felix replied with a tip of the hat on his gray hair. 

      As the buckboard started forward, Rebecca turned to wave goodbye to her husband but Martin had already turned his back and was walking away. 

      She folded her hands on her lap and stared straight ahead in the darkness as they started the forty-five minute journey home. 

      "Did ya enjoy your evenin', Mrs. Smallwood?" 

      "Yes, I did, Felix. Thank you." 

      "Are ya feelin' alright?" he questioned. 

      "I'm fine. Why do you ask?" Rebecca asked, turning to look at him. 

      "I'm sorry, Mrs. Smallwood. Ya just seemed a bit upset. I thought perhaps ya weren't feelin' well."

      Rebecca sighed. "I'm only a bit tired." 

      "Body tired or soul tired, ma'am?"

      Rebecca's eyes widened toward the other man. "What?"

      He turned a bit red and grinned sheepishly as he adjusted the reins in his lap. "I apologize again, Mrs. Smallwood. I shouldn't speak so plainly with you." 

      Rebecca was quick to shake her head. "No, please. I would 

love if you would speak plainly with me.“

      Rebecca hadn't had a true conversation like an equal since leaving home. 

      Felix smiled. "Mr. Smallwood wouldn't like that, ma'am." 

      Rebecca shrugged. "I won't tell him if you won't." 

      "Okay then, ma'am," Felix relented. "I'll repeat my question. Are ya body tired or soul tired?" 

      Rebecca picked at her silk glove. "Soul tired." 

      Felix nodded. "I reckoned ya were. Is there anything ya wanna talk about?"

      Rebecca frowned. It had been so long since she had opened up and shared her troubles with anyone. She tried hard to keep them to herself so Martin would not think her ungrateful. 

      "Do you ever feel like you just don't belong?" she finally whispered. 

      "I can't say that I have, ma'am," Felix replied. "Do ya feel that way?"         

      "Whenever I'm around Martin and his wealthy friends. Whenever I'm in that giant house.... I guess I feel that way a lot." 

      Felix frowned. "Ya shouldn't feel that way, Mrs. Smallwood. That's your home and your husband." 

      "But I'm so different. I was raised with nothing and they have so much more than they need." 

      "No matter how ya were raised, ya have wealth now, ma'am," Felix reminded her. 

      Rebecca sighed. It wasn't just the money. "My family was poor. There were days when we did not even have food to eat. But there was always warmth and love and affection. There was always time together. They seem to lack that here. I miss it." 

      Felix's aged hand patted her gloved one. "Mr. Smallwood cares for you, ma'am." 

      Rebecca nodded. She knew he did. If he didn't care about her, he would have cast her away and served her with a divorce after so long without a child. "I grew up watching my parents and the clearly shown warmth, love and affection between them." She held up her hand before Felix could speak. "I know. I know. Love like that is so rare it's nearly myth. I am blessed to have Martin. I know that." 

      Felix smiled in the glowing lantern light hanging from the buckboard. "Ya are a good woman, ma'am. I think Mr. Smallwood is the blessed one." 

      Rebecca blushed as she averted her gaze and looked out into the darkness. The road home was a long one and it was empty. 

      Movement on the distant plains caught her eye and Rebecca frowned. Squinting, she kept her eyes trained until she could make out the large number of figures on horseback heading their way. 

      "Felix?" she whispered, fear blossoming in her chest. "Look." She pointed oer the plains as the men rode closer and closer. 

      "Hold on tight," Felix warned. He let out a yell and urged the horses faster. The buckboard jerked and lurched as it thundered down the road, dust billowing around them. 

      Hoofbeats filled the night air as the figures took chase, gaining quickly. Rebecca could hear them hooting and hollering as the quickly surrounded the buckboard. There were at least ten men. Every direction Rebecca turned there was a leering face and a gun. 

      Felix had no choice but to pull the buckboard to a stop. "We don't want no trouble with ya!" Felix announced, his voice trembling in the night. 

      One man on a large black horse stepped closer. He was terrifying, with a scar on his cheek and nothing but blackness in his eyes. "Well it sure is trouble we want with you." He chuckled before pulling the trigger on the cold piece of iron in his hand. 

      Rebecca screamed as a bullet slammed into the kind old man's chest and he tumbled from the buckboard. "Felix!" she cried as two men stilled the spooked horses. 

      Rebecca stared down at Felix's bloody, lifeless body. The man hadn't even been armed! This was supposed to be a safe place. Things like this just didn't happen here.  

      "Please...." Rebecca pleaded, her head whipping around hoping to see at least one sympathetic face among the men. "Please, don't kill me. My husband...." 

      "We know damn well who your husband is, Mrs. Smallwood. Why do you think we're here?"

      Rebecca swallowed hard. She was shaking, terrified and struggling to breathe. "What do you want?" she demanded, cringing away as two men left their horses and came to either side of the buckboard seat. 

      "I don't reckon we're gonna talk about that just now. We're in a bit of a hurry." 

      Rebecca felt a hand close around her arm and raw terror consumed her. She felt herself being dragged from the buckboard. Rebecca screamed, kicked, clawed and punched but her struggles were in vain. 

      She was dragged into the dirt next to Felix. Tears flowed from her eyes as she struggled violently. 

      It became harder to breathe when a burlap sack was tossed over her head. "Shut her up, will you?" A voice grumbled. 

      Something hard struck Rebecca in the temple and her world went black. 

---

      It was well past midnight when Martin found himself riding home after dinner and cards with the men. 

      He could himself feeling a bit guilty as he thought of Rebecca. She only wanted to spend time with him. Martin supposed perhaps being raised poor had given Rebecca a different expectation of marriage than he'd been rasied to have. 

      Martin had grown up seeing husbands go about their own lives while wives went about theirs. Seldom did they spend much time together. There was mutual respect, space and distance given. 

      Was marriage different among the poor?

      Honestly, Martin hadn't wanted a wife for anything other than the heirs that would come with her. He'd wanted children to carry on his legacy and leave his life's work to.  Despite Rebecca failures in that regard, Martin had grown quite fond of her over the years. 

      She was a lovely woman that any man would be proud to have on his arm. 

      Martin's thoughts were interrupted when he saw the glowing light ahead. He hurried his horse when he realized it was the lantern on his buckboard. 

      Worry filled him. Had something happened to Rebecca? That worry dropped into the pit of his stomach like a ten-ton anvil when he saw Felix's bloody corpse on the dirt beside the buckboard. 

      "Rebecca!" Martin cried, but there was no response. 

      He was preparing to rush back to town for help when he saw the paper on the buckboard seat. "Sliding from his horse, Martin wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers before picking up the note and holding it under the lanterns glow. 

      

Dear Mr. Smallwood

               As I'm sure you have deducted by now, we've taken your dear wife. She is most certainly and beautiful creature and we'll take excellent care of her as long as you do as we say. 

      If you come after us, we'll kill her. If you go to the law, we'll kill her. If you attempt to hire someone to come after us, we'll kill her. You're a smart man so I'm sure you understand my point. 

      You are to return home and simply wait. We'll be in contact with you soon.          

      

There was no signature and Martin felt cold with dread and fear. He clutched the note to his chest and looked up at the moon.

      His poor, poor Rebecca.

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

      Brantley paced the rickety porch of the rundown cabin. He didn't do cooped up well. But, the bullet he'd taken to the shoulder a couple weeks ago ensured there was nothing for him to do 

except be cooped up.

      As long as his right arm was in this sling, Hoff wasn't going to let him ride along—or ride anywhere without a fight. 

      Brantley wasn't normally the type to give a damn about the gang leader's opinion. He had a strong aversion to authority and tended to be the loner of the gang and keep to himself. However, being injured made him slightly more vulnerable so he was a bit more willing to heed orders and lay low. 

      Damn, that uptight card dealer to hell and back for sending that bullet slamming into his shoulder. It wasn't his fault he'd beaten everyone at the table. Their accusations of Brantley's dishonesty had been false but before he could so much as offer a word in his own defense, the dealer had shot him. 

      Of course, Brantley had shot him back—blown that itchy trigger finger of his clean off-but the damage had already been down. Brantley was now a wounded damn cow in a sea of wolves and that was a dangerous thing to be. 

      Grumbling, Brantley adjusted the sling on his arm and his eyes fixed on the figures currently riding hell-bent for the house. He grabbed the looking glass and sighted through it, recognizing Hoff at the front. 

      Tension filled him, though he was careful to keep it well hidden. Weakness was a death sentence in the world he lived in. 

      Brantley leaned his weight against the porch post, hooked his thumb through his belt loop and watched the men thunder in. 

      "Hey there, Brantley. You're looking bright-eyed and bushy tailed this morning," Hoff greeted as he brought his giant black gelding to a stop. 

      "Chomping at my bit is more like it," Brantley replied. "I ain't made for sittin' idle." 

      "Well you're in luck then," Samson announced, sliding his over-fed frame from his mare and pulling what was obviously a woman with a sack on her head down with him. He tossed her limp body down in the dirt. "We brought you some company." 

      Brantley's brow raised slightly. "Is she dead?"

      Hoff chuckled. "That'd make her a bit less entertaining as your houseguest, wouldn't it?" 

      So, she was alive. Brantley pushed the brim of his hat up slightly as most of the men filed inside for a meal. "What the hell am I supposed to do with her?" 

      Gilman, a short weasel of a man, chuckled and leaned in close to Brantley as he passed by him. "Surely, we ain't gotta give you a lesson on the birds and the bees." 

      "I prefer my women conscious and willing," Brantley replied, staring down at the tiny man with boredom. 

      "Aww ain't that sweet," Gilman mocked. "Always knew you were a soft one." 

      Faster than Gilman could blink, the blade of Brantley's ten-inch knife was at his throat, pressing against his dirty skin. "Don't go mistakin' me for someone who won't kill you," Brantley warned. 

      "Alright, alright, break it up you two," Hoff chuckled. "Go on in and get something to eat, Gilman." 

      "Yeah Gilman." Brantley pulled the knife away. "Go eat." 

      Gilman scurried out of sight ad Brantley holstered his knife. "So why the hell did you bring a woman here?" he asked Hoff.

      Hoff scratched at his scarred cheek. "She's that rich rancher's wife. Smallwood? We snagged her up and left that man of hers a nice note. She's gonna be one hell of a payday for us." 

      Brantley shook his head. "Have you really gotten that desperate? Kidnapping helpless women?"

      Hoff's dark eyes narrowed. "This'll be one hell of a payday, Brantley, and if you want in on it, you'll play along." 

      Brantley still wasn't sold. Hurting and threatening ladies just didn't interest him. Sure, he'd steal the coins off a dead man's eyes, gut a man like a fish and disobey authority every chance he got but hurt a woman? Brantley had loved his mama. Hurting women just didn't seem right. 

      "Just what do you want me to do?" he asked. 

      "Keep her here and don't let her escape. I'm sending some men south on separate business and me and the rest will go deal with her husband." 

      "A nanny then?" Brantley grunted. "I ain't about to be a goddamn nanny." 

      Samson shrugged. "That's alright, boss. If Brantley ain't willing, I'd be more than happy to be her 

nanny .“ He rubbed his hands together and leered down at the woman at his feet.

      Hoff shook his head quickly and fixed Brantley with a pointed gaze that held clear threat. "Brantley will watch her. With that busted arm he ain't suited for much else" 

      Brantley felt his temper flare but said nothing. He wouldn't allow Hoff to goad him into a fight. That man lived to flex his muscle. Now, Brantley wasn't afraid of the man but he saw the way Samson was looking down at that unconscious, umoving woman and he wasn't about to let 

him be in charge of her care. No one in the world deserved to have that dirty, hairy, fat-bellied bastard panting on top of them.

      "So, I reckon you want me keeping her safe too. What if she gets out of line?" Brantley asked. 

      Hoff chuckled. "Surely you can handle one tiny woman." 

      Brantley shrugged his good shoulder. "Sometimes they get mouthy." 

      'We gotta keep her alive and fairly unharmed." He winked. "A bruise or two won't hurt anything. Accidents happen." 

      Brantley grunted. There wouldn't be any damn accidents. He wasn't a woman beater. 

      He glanced at the blood on her light blue dress. "Did she already have an 

accident ?“

      "No, I shot the pathetic old man she was riding with. That's his blood." Hoff held up his hands.  " '

We don’t want no trouble.’ Hell, why do people go and say stupid shit like that?“

      A chuckle left Brantley's throat. "Probably because they don't want any trouble." 

      Hoff snorted. "Well he got dead is what he got." He turned his attention to Samson. "Pick that lady up, get her inside and tied up before she starts coming to. We gotta eat and head back out. Not all of us can laze around all day like Brantley."

      Brantley moved aside to allow both men past him. He found himself alone on the porch, cursing his luck. He didn't want to spend the next few days—or weeks depending on what Hoff had planned—playing nanny. Especially to some hoity toity rich man's wife who'd probably been born with a silver spoon in her mouth and never heard the word no. 

      She'd probably do a lot of screaming, crying, whimpering and begging. Brantley would do a lot of banging his head against the wall. 

      Hell, he didn't know exactly why he tolerated Hoff and the others. He supposed it was because Hoff had saved his life when they'd been little more than boys and they'd been riding together ever since. They'd had each others backs more than once over the years. 

      Hell, Hoff was the closest thing to family Brantley had left. 

      So, he put up with his threats and his hair-brained schemes. This was honestly the first time Brantley had a problem with something Hoff had done. And he'd do what he could to make sure no harm came to the woman. 

      Brantley was the safest bet to care for her. Most of the other men had no qualms with harming a woman. And he knew that's why Hoff had truly given him the job. Rich husband was less likely to play along if his wife was dead. 

      Adjusting his hat, Brantley sighed and headed for the door. He might as well enjoy a bit of bullshitting with the men before he became nanny nursemaid extraordinaire. 

yXc:~

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

To say she was terrified would have been an understatement. Rough rope bound Rebecca’s wrists and ankles. The scratchy, suffocating sack was still over her aching head.

   She was lying on a wooden floor and could see the silhouettes of men moving through the fabric. Rebecca had been conscious for a while but had been careful not to make a move or a sound. She hadn't wanted to draw any attention to herself. She simply wanted to observe and learn what she could about her captors. 

   So far she had only learned that they seemed to be a bunch of vulgar, uneducated criminals and thieves. And they seemed to think they would make a lot of money from Martin by holding her ransom. 

   Would Martin pay for his wife a second time? Especially now that he knew that wife couldn't give him the children he so desperately wanted?

   Rebecca's hands shook as her stomach turned. She had no real idea if the fondness her husband had for his barren wife would be enough. She may very well end up dead—like Felix. 

   Her heart hurt as she thought of the kind, old man. Did he have a wife or children who would mourn him? Rebecca had lived around the man and been driven around on the buckboard and carriage by him countless times and, yet, she knew nothing about him. 

   She vowed that if she lived through this ordeal and made it back to the ranch, she would get to know those who worked there—whether Martin found it proper or not. 

   Rebecca had no idea how long she lay still upon that hard floor before the voice belonging to the man who'd murdered Felix finally announced it was time to leave. 

   She had gathered enough to know. 

Hoff intended to leave her here alone with only one man as guard. A man named Brantley. Maybe with only one guard, Rebecca could manage an escape…

   She heard the raucous of the men filing out the door. Hoof beats thundered off into the distance and then.... Silence. 

   An overwhelming, oppressive silence that seemed to stretch endlessly. 

   Rebecca became so lost in that silence she nearly screamed when the sound of boots on the wooden floor boards suddenly filled the air. 

   The footsteps stopped in front of her and Rebecca knew if the sack were removed she'd see the toes of those boots right in front of her nose. 

   "You can stop pretendin'. I know you ain't been unconscious for a while now." 

   Rebecca gave no indication that she heard him. She knew it must be Brantley, the man in charge of keeping her here. 

   "Do you want the sack off your damn head at least?" 

   Still Rebecca held still and said nothing. She wanted the sack of, yes, it would certainly make breathing easier. However, in a strange way the sack offered her a false sense of protection and security.        

   "Well, if you ain't gonna speak, I'll just leave the damn thing on there," Brantley grumbled. 

   Rebecca heard his boots scrape across the floor and it was enough to have her finding her voice. "No please! Don't leave it on." 

   She heard a deep masculine grumble and then the sack was tugged roughly off her head. Rebecca blinked several times as her eyes adjusted to the sudden onslaught of light. 

   They settled on the scuffed up dusty toes of a pair of boots. She let her eyes scan upward. The boots led to a pair of worn black trousers on a set of long, lean legs and thick thighs. 

   A gun belt, worn with age, was slung low on lean hips. A white button down was tucked into those black trousers and Rebecca let her eyes continue upward over a lean stomach, broad chest and strong shoulders—though she took notice of the sling securing his right arm. 

   Farther up still she let her gaze travel. Finally, they found his face. And, Lord, what a face!

   Far too rugged to ever be considered classically handsome, it was sharp and angled and covered in a dusty of black stubble.  His rugged attractiveness was emphasized by a pair of intense green eyes watching her from behind dark lashes. 

   One sharp brow quirked upward slightly. "Enjoyin' your view?"

   Rebecca didn't know what to say. All she knew was something about his rugged masculinity had her far too aware that she was a woman, he was a man and she was completely at his mercy. 

---

Brantley instantly regretted taking the sack of the woman’s head. She sure as hell wasn’t what he’d been expecting when it came to the look of her.

      Brantley had been expecting a matronly middle-aged woman given that husband of hers. Instead, he was looking into a pair of big brown does eyes, staring up at him from a pale face with flushed cheeks. 

      "Do you intend to hurt me?" she asked, her voice much steadier than he'd thought it would be. 

      "No, I don't intend to harm you." 

      She blinked several times as she squirmed against the ropes constricting her. Her full lips pulled down in a frown. "Can you untie me?" 

      Brantley shook his head, his eyes taking in the sight of the bloody welt on her temple. Damn those brutes. Who manhandled something so small and fragile like that?

      "Please?" Her brow furrowed as her dainty nose wrinkled. "I'm real uncomfortable." 

      Brantley shrugged. "Not my problem." 

      He turned and walked away from her and the damn temptation those full lips and doe eyes had presented him with. Shit. It would have been so much easier to be a decent man if she were old. Now his cock was gonna be in the way. 

$

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Rebecca lay upon that hard floor, her body racked with pain. Her head throbbed and her every muscle ached and burned from being left in such an awkward position in her restraints.  

She wondered how long she would be left here. Would Martin pay the money? Would it happen quickly? And, if these thieves got what they were wanting from Martin, would they truly let her go unharmed?

Worry had her chewing at her bottom lip when those boot steps suddenly sounded on the floor once again.  

Rebecca looked up to see Brantley stepping into the room with a dripping wet rag in his fist. "Quit chewing on your lip like a damned squirrel with a nut," he grumbled.  

She flinched as he stepped close to her and then crouched to her level. "I ain't gonna hurt you," Brantley assured her, though his voice surely didn't sound convincing. "I ain't like those men. Hell, I ain't never used a woman this way to make a bit of money and I ain't never hit one either."  

His rough, calloused fingers danced lightly over the aching spot on her head where she'd been struck.  

Rebecca nearly leapt from her skin. His touch was searing—like a red hot branding iron against her skin. Never in her life had Rebecca felt anything quite as shocking as that simple contact.  

She saw Brantley's green eyes narrow at her sharp intake of breath. What was wrong with her? This man was evil and mean and cruel—the men he considered friends were evidence enough of that. She had no reason to feel anything but fear and hatred for the man.  

Brantley's fingertips were quickly replaced by the wet rag he was holding and Rebecca winced as he cleaned blood from her face and hair. "Damn brutes," he muttered under his breath.  

He stood swiftly and tossed the rag onto a small rickety table in the corner. He studied her a moment while rubbing at his jaw. Rebecca wondered what he was thinking but said nothing until he reached for her feet.  

"What are you doing?" she demanded, curling them further behind her.  

Brantley raised his brow once more as he studied her face. "I was 

going to untie you and make you a bit more comfortable but if you want to stay like this.“ He shrugged and began to turn away.

"No!" Rebecca quickly spoke up. "Please, untie me."  

Brantley nodded, appearing amused as he stooped down and untied her feet before taking her by her arm and hauling her up.  

Rebecca cried out with pain as blood rushed to her legs. She swayed on her numb legs and would have fallen if Brantley's arm hadn't snaked around her waist to hold her up.  

Every nerve in Rebecca's body was suddenly awake and aware. The front of her body was pressed flush against the front of the hard, rugged outlaw.  

She tried to suck in a breath but there didn't seem to be any air left in the room. Hot blood rushed through her veins as she forced her gaze up to his face.  

Brantley's green eyes were as dark as the emerald in a ring Martin had once give her.....

That had Rebecca snapping out of her heated daze. She pulled away from Brantley, relieved when he willingly let her go. She longed to stretched out her arms and relieve the pressure in her shoulders from having them pulled behind her.  

Brantley reached toward her once more, though Rebecca managed to keep from wincing and suddenly her arms were free.  

She nearly wept with a mixture of relief and pain when she was finally able to relax her shoulders and her tight muscles pulled sharply.  

"Follow me," Brantley grunted. "There's a back room with a bed and you can have it. I reckon you'd rather have that than the hard floor."  

Rebecca chose not to respond. As he began to walk away, she glanced toward the open front door. She could make a run for it.....

Brantley chuckled and never even slowed his pace or turned to look at her when he said, "Go ahead. But where the hell you gonna go? You don't have the slightest idea where you are and there's no saddled horse outside waitin'—if you can even ride a saddled horse. I highly doubt you know how to saddle one yourself. You're better off stayin' here, ridin' this out and goin' home to your husband safe and sound whenever Hoff says you can."  

Rebecca wanted to scoff and argue and criticize the man for jumping to conclusions about her but she couldn't. Because she couldn't saddle a horse—hell she couldn't even ride one. Her family had lived in the slums in the city and had had no need or money for a horse.  

Martin had plenty of horses but he would have been  livid if she'd actually attempted to 

ride one. Riding horses was something far below what he thought his wife should do.

And she didn't know where she was. Had no way of knowing how far she was from any sort of civilization or help. She had no knowledge of surviving on her own out there and no way of knowing who she might encounter. Here in this shack, Rebecca didn't feel as if her life were in immediate danger—whether that made her foolish or simply a good judge of situation, only time would tell.  

It could very well end up being a situation of stepping out of the frying pan and into the fire.  

She grudgingly followed Brantley into the small back room and looked at the tiny brass bed and thin mattress in the corner. "It's not much," he admitted. "I'm sure you'll find somethin' to complain about."  

Rebecca shook her head as she wrapped her arms tight around herself. "I've had worse," she replied. The man didn't realize she'd slept on dirt floors that still smelled of piss from the animals they'd had to bring inside to keep them from freezing in the bitter cold of winter.  

Again those green eyes studied her. He nodded and pointed to the bed. "Have a seat," he said before brandishing a pair of cuffs from a drawer in the bedside table.  

"You don't have to lock my hands," she assured him, praying he'd listen. "I won't run. As you said, how far would I get on foot with no idea of direction?"

Brantley shook his head. "You're going to have a seat on that bed and I'm going to chain your hand to the headboard. I won't take any chance that would end with you dead out there and me dead here when the gang gets back and you're gone."  

Rebecca frowned. She couldn't figure the man out. He didn't seem to want to harm her, seemed upset that others had and, yet, he wasn't willing to help her get away either.  

It made her sad the things men did for money. And it also made her wonder if she 

should have made a run for it.

Rebecca's gaze flitted momentarily over the gun on his hip. Maybe....

She stepped forward, feigning resignation and slid past him in the tight quarters as if she were going to the bed.  

Instead, Rebecca moved quickly, grabbed the handle of the revolver, slid it from the holster and took one big step back as she aimed it at Brantley's chest.  

The man's green eyes widened with genuine shock as he stared at her. "What the hell do you intend to do, ma'am?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.  

"I don't want to have to kill you...." Rebecca began but stopped when his rich, deep laughter filled the dusty room.  

"That's good because I doubt you could. Do you even know how one of those work?"

It was finally Rebecca's turn to narrow her eyes as she cocked revolver and kept it steady on his chest. "I grew up poor in the slums but papa always made sure we had a gun and he made sure his daughter knew how to use it."  

Brantley's head tilted to the side as he studied her closely. Rebecca swallowed hard. True, she knew how to use the gun but that did not mean she had what it took to kill a person—she really didn't want to pull the trigger.  

"And what are you going to do after you've killed me and made your escape?" Brantley asked. "I can promise you that you're several days of on foot walking from any kind of homestead or town. You gonna take a canteen and a sack of jerked beef and beans and brave the wilderness alone? I can promise you right now, there are far worse things than me out there."  

Rebecca's arms were beginning to burn from holding out the gun but she kept it steady. "You could help me then. You've shown a dislike for this plan of your friend's. You could help me get away....."  

"No, I can't. They'd hunt you back down and kill you for defying them. If they got you once, they can easily do it twice. Might even kill that husband of yours once they realize they can't get his money through you. Not to mention, if I help you escape, they'll be happy to put bullets in me too. I ain't looking to take a bullet for you."  

"Then I'll be forced to kill you and take my chances alone."  

Brantley grumbled under his breath. Rebecca's hands shook as she held the gun. Could she pull the trigger? His green eyes were looking straight into hers. Could she honestly shoot the man?

Before she had time to come to a definite conclusion, Brantley seemed to grow bored. In a movement so fast Rebecca nearly missed it, his hand shot out, grabbed the gun and had it holstered.  

He once again motioned for the bed. "Sit."  

"I'm not a hound," Rebecca muttered, even as she obeyed his gruff command.  

"I wouldn't ever call you one, ma'am," Brantley  conceded. "And believe it or not, you are safe here with me."  

The kind words were countered by the cold metal cuffs being secured around her left wrist and then the metal bed post.  

"You'll be more comfortable here then you were on that floor. I'll go get you something to eat and drink."  

Rebecca watched Brantley step out the door and close it behind him. She was now alone in the tiny room. Though, she was still chained, she knew that this 

was better than being tied up on the floor.

She cursed her failed attempt at escape but knew that escape would almost certainly mean death—she didn't know how to survive out there alone.  

And Brantley hadn't give her any reason to think he meant to harm her. She took a deep steadying breath. All she had was hope. Hope that Martin 

would pay, hope that Hoff and his men would return her safely to her husband and hope that Brantley would keep his word and not harm her in the meantime.

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Brantley couldn’t quite believe the turn this situation had taken. The woman hadn’t whined, screamed, cried or whimpered a single damn time. Hell, she had gone so far as to pull his own gun on him!

And look goddamn tempting as hell holding that carefully crafted block of iron and wood in her hands. 	

No, his 

hostage wasn’t at all what Brantley’d been expecting. She hadn’t even turned her dainty nose up at his offering of burnt beans and hardtack biscuits for her supper.

She was small, the top of her head barely reached his chest and she was slender, slim and dainty. Brantley wanted to protect her, keep her safe....and ride the hell out of her.  

He hadn't missed the way those big brown eyes had looked at him. The hunger in that expression and the heat in those cheeks as he pulled her close to keep her from falling earlier.  

Damn she was temptation... and Brantley was a sucker for temptation. He was always giving in to it and taking what he wanted—and he had a feeling Mrs. Smallwood would gladly give him 

everything he was wanting.

Oh to hell with it. Brantley tossed his cigarette into the dusty yard, the end glowing faintly in the darkness. He was going to go back to that room and get exactly what he wanted out of the woman.  

Brantley strode through the small shack and opened the door to her room, fully prepared to bury himself in the woman, only to find her curled up and sound asleep upon the tiny, lumpy bed.  

The sight awakened a tenderness in Brantley and he growled at the emotion. Tenderness got you killed. Caring led to dying. He 	

But, hell, she seemed to worried, so frightened and unsure, but still strong and brave. Not many men had the balls to stand up to him but this woman had done it.  

Distance. Brantley needed to keep his distance. This woman was trouble. These feelings and thoughts were trouble. Lust was fine. Lust was something he could give in to—as long as it was 

only lust. But when you started throwing in things like tenderness and caring, you were entering dangerous territory.

With a sigh, Brantley grabbed the folded blanket off the end of the bed and draped it over the sleeping woman.  

He just had to keep her here, keep her alive and hope that Hoff made it back soon to get her out of his hair.  

---

“Countering my offer?” Hoff couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

That rich bastard had one hell of a lot of her nerve!  

Hoff had sent him one of his men to deliver a letter demanding one thousand dollars for his wife's safe return. It was a lot of money, yes, but not an obscene amount given the man's wealth and his wife's beauty.  

And Mr. Smallwood had had the balls to send him a letter back stating he would willingly pay seven-hundred and asking if that was satisfactory.  

Satisfactory? Hell no it wasn't satisfactory. That goddamn rich bastard! Hoff would gladly start cutting off that bitch's fingers and sending them one by one to the cheapskate—maybe that would loosen the strings on his money belt.  

"I think he was just testing the waters, boss," Samson stated. "He seemed real upset over his wife missing. Maybe he offered this just to see how serious we was."  

Hoff shook his head. "Surely the man knows we are serious! We murdered his driver for chrissake!"  

Hoff rubbed at his jaw. He didn't 

really want to hurt the woman. Hurting women wasn’t something he took pleasure in—though he had been rough with a few to ensure they knew their place. Which was flat on their backs with their legs spread while he buried his cock inside them. Maybe he’d have a go with Mr. Smallwood’s wife before he either killed the woman or returned her to her husband.

He was sure Brantley was already having a good time. Though, then again, who knew. Brantley was damn good with horses, guns and intimidation. The man was nearly indispensable as a gang member. But Brantley was different from Hoff and the other men.  

Brantley wasn't rotten deep down. Brantley had a goodness in him that Hoff himself lacked. Hoff supposed it came from being raised by a good mama—Hoff's own mother had been a alcoholic whore who'd tossed him out just as soon as he'd been old enough to make it on his own. Apparently she'd seen nine years old as a full grown man.  

Brantley's lack of cold-heartedness had caused more than a few issues over the years. Hoff worried that his oldest riding companion would one day wind up dead over it—Hoff hoped he wouldn't have to be the one to kill him. He would kill him if need be and he'd do it without a second thought. Hoff didn't form real attachments—he never had.  

"Go back to him," Hoff told Samson. "Make sure he understands that he either pays us the full amount or we'll start sending body parts until he see things our way. And make sure he understands it could be days before he hears from us again but if he goes to anyone else for help, we'll know and we'll send him his wife's head in a sack."  

As Samson hurried away, Hoff sat down on the rock he'd put his bedroll beside. No matter what Mr. Smallwood reply was, Hoff would make him sit and stew a few days before he responded.  

The man needed to learn his lesson about attempting to barter with a man like Hoff.

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Rebecca had no way of knowing the time. She had no way of knowing if it was day or night as she sat in the windowless room and stared at the rough walls around her.

It had been a long while since she'd seen Brantley. He had brought her dinner and she assumed it now had to be getting close to morning—perhaps it already was. Would he be coming? She needed to see to personal business.  

Was she going to have to yell for him?  

Just as Rebecca was preparing to do just that, the door opened and Brantley stepped in. "Good morning, ma'am."  

The friendly greeting caught her off guard. Brantley made no sense. He ran with bad men, he was keeping her prisoner and yet he seemed so....

Decent.

"Good morning, Brantley."  

"I'll take you to the outhouse and when you get settled back down in here I'll make some breakfast."  

"You don't have to keep me locked up," Rebecca assured him. "I won't run. You were right. I wouldn't have any idea where to go."  

Brantley merely grunted as he pulled a key from his shirt pocket and stepped toward her. "We'll see."  

As Brantley bent over her to unlatch her wrist from the shackles, Rebecca felt that uncontrollable heat flare to life once again within her.  

His body was so close to hers, she would barely have to move to come in contact with him. His neck was brushing against her temple. If she turned her head she could kiss that hot skin.....

Rebecca was shaken from her erotic fantasy when Brantley stood straight and her arm fell free. "Are you comin'?" Brantley asked, already heading for the door.  

Rebecca stood slowly, attempting to work her way through the lusty haze his closeness had trapped her in.  

Her body ached from her recent inactivity. She needed to enjoy movement while it was hers because Brantley would likely be chaining her up again soon.  

Raising her arms over her head, Rebecca arched her back and stretched her underused muscles. Awareness jolted through her and Rebecca looked toward the doorway to see Brantley watching her closely.  

His predatory green eyes were locked on her as he gripped the door tightly. His tongue darted out across his firm bottom lip and his a growl left his throat.  

Rebecca's knees weakened from the sheer power of that gaze. Never had a man looked upon her with such hunger. And never had Rebecca felt such a hunger of her own. Never had she wanted a man's touch so desperately—so fervently.  

If Brantley stepped toward her, if he touched her, she wouldn't be able to say no. She would melt under his touch like ice under the sun.  

How she longed for him to take that step. To put those calloused fingers against her skin and further awaken this burning, aching desire she felt flickering within her.  

Then, suddenly, Brantley turned and was gone.

A breath Rebecca hadn't realized she'd been holding whooshed from her lungs. What the devil was wrong with her?! She was a married woman and Brantley was holding her captive here!  

Perhaps the knock on her head had addled her more than she'd thought.  

Rebecca gathered her wits about her, smoothed out her skirt and stepped out of the tiny room. She glanced around the tiny cabin for Brantley but didn't see him.  

Edging toward the door, Rebecca walked out on the porch. Mist hung over the morning landscape. She took a deep breath of the fresh air and let the breeze blow against her face, feeling wisps of her tangled hair blowing in the wyoming wind.

"The outhouse is behind the cabin."  

Brantley's voice had her gasping and turning quickly, covering her racing heart with her palm. "You startled me!" she accused.  

His sharp brow raised as he looked up at her from the porch chair he was sitting in. "I've been here since you stepped out. If you'd have paid any kind of attention, you wouldn't have been startled."

Rebeccca squared her shoulders and met his gaze. "You'll have to forgive me. I haven't lived my life worried that some poor soul I robbed was going to attack the moment my back was turned. I suppose I don't have your experience when it comes to such matters."  

Rebecca had thought perhaps Brantley would get angry at her statement. Instead, the man's laughter rang out rich in the morning air. "No, I reckon you don't." He scratched at the stubble on his cheek. "Like I said, the outhouse is behind the cabin."  

Rebecca frowned. "Aren't you going to come with me to ensure I don't run off?"  

All humor left Brantley's green eyes. "You said I didn't need to worry about that and I took you at your word."  

Rebecca blinked once as that sunk in. he trusted her word? When had a man ever said anything like that to her before? Martin had certainly never treated her so much like an..... equal.  

But Martin was her husband. She had no right to think such unfair thoughts about him.  

Without another word, Rebecca turned and left the porch, walking around the tiny cabin to the outhouse that was indeed, behind it.  

After seeing to her personal business, Rebecca couldn't help but contemplate running. But she knew she couldn't. She'd already determined that running would be foolhardy. She had no idea where she was or where to go and she had no food, no water and no way to defend herself.  

She was safer here... with Brantley. At least until those men came back. What if Martin didn't pay? What if he washed his hands of her and she was left in the hands of the gang?

Fear once again reared its head. Rebecca was not foolish enough to think that the other members of the gang would be as respectful to her as Brantley had been—she still remembered the way they'd leered at her, the way they'd manhandled her and the way Hoff had so cold-heartedly killed an unarmed man.  

Her stomach was in knots and her legs shaking as she made her way back around the cabin. Brantley was no longer on the porch so she stepped inside and found him at a cookstove, burning a skillet of eggs and muttering oaths.  

"Need help?" she asked.  

He spun quickly and hissed in pain as the skillet of charred eggs burned his hand and clattered to the floor.  

"I'm supposed to be keepin' alive and healthy but at this damn rate, you're gonna starve to death."

Rebecca frowned. "I doubt Hoff truly cares if I'm well-fed."  

For the first time, Brantley's gaze softened as he looked at her. "No, I reckon he doesn't. But I do. I had no part in what happened to you, ma'am, and I'm not supportive of it."  

Rebecca looked away from him, finding it quite hard to fight the urge to leap into his arms while holding his gaze. She grabbed a mitt off the table and picked up the fallen skillet. "My name is Rebecca," she muttered as she went around him to  sit the empty skillet upon the stove and spooned a bit of lard onto the metal.  

"What did you say, ma'am? I couldn't hear you. And you don't have to be cookin'...."

Rebecca smiled as she cracked an egg and it hissed as it fell onto the hot skillet. "I'd rather cook  than starve. And I said my name is Rebecca. Doesn't seem right that I know your name and you don't know mine."  

She spared a glance at Brantley to see that his jaw was tight as he stared hard at the wall. She wondered what he was thinking... and couldn't help but notice how perfect a picture he painted as he thought it.  

Quickly, she turned her attention back to breakfast. She didn't want to make a mess of it the way Brantley had.  

"I'm not gonna tie you back up," he stated after several long silent moments.  

Rebecca pulled the biscuits Brantley'd made from inside the oven. "You're not?"

"No. If you really want to go, you can. But I think you should stay. Hoff and the others won't take kindly to you leavin'. They'll come after you if you ruin things for them and they'll kill you after they do worse to you for a while.

Rebecca shivered. She didn't have to ask what worse was. She knew.  

"And if Martin doesn't pay?" she whispered, keeping her eyes on the eggs she was stirring. "What happens then."  

"What do you mean? He's your husband, of course he'll pay."  

Oh, how she wished she could be so sure....

Instead of continuing the conversation, Rebecca sat a finished and much more edible version of their breakfast on the table. "We should eat while it's warm and then I'll clean the floor."  

"I'll clean the floor. I'm the one that made the mess," Brantley countered, pulling out a chair and motioning for her to sit.  

Rebecca wasn't sure what to say or how to act. She sat down and he sat in the chair across the small table.  

The meal was tense and the air was thick. Rebecca had no idea what to make of the man. He seemed like a genuinely good person—a genuine person. She hadn't met someone so real in a long time. She'd been surrounded by the false pretenses of high society and she hadn't fully realized how completely she'd hated it until now. Until sitting at the scarred up table in a rickety cabin eating plain scrambled eggs with lumpy biscuits with a man across from her who acted as if what she said and what she thought truly carried weight and meant something.  

Oh Martin.... Would the man pay the ransom and bring her back to the ranch. And, if he did, would things change between them? Would he finally be a husband who 

saw his wife and cared about more than just her barren womb?

Rebecca feared the answer to the latter was no.

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Brantley sat on the porch and stared out over the sunset-red horizon. He wasn’t at all sure what to do and that knotted his fur worse than anything else ever had.

He hadn't liked this plan of Hoff's from the beginning and he was liking it less and less with each passing moment he spent with the woman—Rebecca. Shit, why had she told him her name? Why had he untied her and let her roam? He should have kept her tied up in that back room and ignored her just the way he'd been expected to.  

She was beautiful, vulnerable, and so damn tiny. But that wasn't the worst of it. She wasn't the hoity toity, nose-in-the-air society wife Brantley had thought she'd be. Rebecca was..... genuine. She was smart and resourceful and clearly tough as nails since she hadn't broken a single time since her abduction.  

Hell fire. Brantley wanted to know her better. He wanted to truly 

know her. And sure, he wanted to ride the hell out of her too, but, he could hardly be blamed for that purely male desire.

But Rebecca was a married woman. She was going to return to her husband just as soon as Hoff and the men returned.  

He took a long draw off his cigarette. Brantley had never been one to resist temptation or deny himself what he wanted—especially when it was abundantly clear that what he wanted wanted him just as badly. He'd seen her flushed cheeks and wanting eyes. He'd noticed the increase in her pulse and the way her doe-eyes followed his movements.  

It was the tenderness he felt growing in himself toward her that gave him pause. Tenderness could lead to more than Brantley was willing to  risk just now.... But, then again, Brantley wasn't a young school boy. He wasn't some starry-eyed child. He was a grown man and could handle just about anything. He could surely handle a few ruts with a beautiful woman before she returned to her husband.  

Brantley took another slow draw off his cigarette. He wanted her and he figured he might as well scratch that itch.

As if his thoughts of the woman had beckoned her from the cabin, Rebecca stepped onto the porch. Her brown hair fell across her brow and she pushed it back.  

"May I join you?"

Brantley tipped his head toward the rickety rocking chair a few feet away.  

Rebecca took a seat and an awkward silence reigned as Brantley tried to decide whether or not he was going to act on the temptation coursing in his blood.  

Her clearing throat had him snapping from his carnal thoughts. "Why are you with these people?"

Brantley blew out a cloud of smoke, watching it swirl away in the sunset light. "What people? It's just you and I here right now."  

A raise of her arched brow made it clear she didn't appreciate his sarcasm. "I'm serious, Brantley. You seem....

different. Hoff is a bad man. I watched him murder an innocent, unarmed man in cold blood. And those other men seem just as rotten. You don’t seem to be the same type.“

Brantley shook his head. "Don't be making me out to be something that I'm not, lady. I'm no good man and I'm no conflicted hero. The sooner you pull your head out of those clouds, the better."  

"My head is nice and grounded, Brantley. I can assure you of that. I have never been the type to let it wander. But you've avoided answering my question. Why are you with them?"

Brantley killed his cigarette on the bottom of his boot and sighed. The woman was smart—her mind was quick and sharp as a tack. But Brantley wasn't the type to divulge information. His personal thoughts and inner workings were for him and him alone to know.  

"Life put me where I'm at and made me who I am. Just like it did to Hoff. Just like it does to all men." He shrugged. "And just like it did you."  

At that, her gaze became thoughtful. She sat back in the chair, smoothed out her bloodstained dress and folded her hands in her lap. "Who has life made me, Brantley?"

Brantley was surprised by the question. He wondered why she asked but figured there wasn't much better to do than keep up the conversation—he was actually 

enjoying himself which was odd, he thought.

"I've gathered that you were born poor but you were also born pretty and life is always easier for a pretty poor girl."  

Her jaw tightened. "And how's that?"

"The pretty ones get to entice the rich husbands and improve their position in the world. I'm not judging, Rebecca, merely stating fact. It's a bit harder for the ugly poor girls. They just get to stay poor, I reckon."  

Brantley knew instantly that he'd struck a rather sensitive nerve with the woman. Her shoulders tensed, her eyes narrowed and her voice was carefully controlled and even as she spoke. "You know 

nothing about me, Brantley. I did not entice anyone to better my own situation.“

Brantley chuckled. "Well, you went from poor to impossibly wealthy when you gained that husband of yours. You'll have to forgive my assumption of the facts."  

"I 

was born to a poor family, Brantley. But I had a loving family and a mother and father who worked and slaved to provide for me and my two younger brothers. My father worked himself into the grave at far too young an age and my mother was left alone to try to feed her children. So many nights I can remember lying in bed with the hunger in my belly so intense, I could think of nothing else. I’d listen to the sound of my mother’s muffled tears coming from her pallet on the dirt floor as she struggled to cope with the loss of her partner and the stress of knowing her children were starving. I can remember my fingers being so raw from washing clothes to earn coins that they would bleed and crack and be nearly useless. When I turned sixteen, I looked at my skeletal brothers and my tired, haggard mother and knew that I had to do something. My mother and I placed an ad in the paper and Martin answered it. The money he paid for my hand in marriage ensured that my brothers would be able to eat and thrive and grow into strong men that are able to work and provide for our mother and earn her the rest she deserves.“

Brantley was quiet for several long moments. "You aren't a self-sacrificing martyr," he countered.  "You earned yourself a golden spoon, a mansion, a fat coin purse and endless lace and silk."  

Rebecca snorted in a way that was so unladylike it was nearly comical. Then her expression turned quite somber. She looked out over the horizon as tears shone in her brown eyes. "I would trade all that in a heartbeat."  

Brantley studied her profile in the sunset. "For what?"

"Happiness. Just one fleeting moment of nothing but pure happiness."  

Brantley shook his head. "Aren't you the one who just said your head is never in the clouds? Happiness is a myth."  

Rebecca rose slowly to her feet and swiped at her eyes. "Perhaps it is." She made her way to the porch steps. "I'm going for a walk. I want to be alone but, dont' worry, I'll be back."  

Brantley shrugged. "Do what you want."  

As he watched her round the cabin and disappear from sight, Brantley felt about two inches tall and figured he'd start braying at any moment.  

Conversation was a dangerous thing. He knew far too much about the tempting woman, yet, strangely enough, he wanted to learn more.  

Brantley struck a match to relight his cigarette. He sat in the growing darkness and simply thought about the complicated woman fate had decided to toss into his simple life.

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Rebecca found a large boulder several hundred yards behind the cabin and sat herself down upon it. She was ashamed by the tears she had allowed to fall in front of Brantley—tears that were still streaming down her damp cheeks.

As Rebecca swiped at them, she thought about her family. It was thoughts of them that had caused the tears. Brantley's words, while somewhat harsh, were the same words and assumptions she'd heard plenty of times since becoming Martin's wife—Rebecca was quite used to them. They certainly wouldn't be enough to cause her to weep, but, thoughts of her mother, her father and her brothers? Those nearly always brought painful emotions.

She found herself wondering about them. Her brothers would now be grown, strong, young men. Did that mean her mother was finally able to rest? Were her brothers married? Had they found love? Was her mother happy?

Rebecca longed to reach out to them. It had been eight long years since she'd seen or spoken to her family. Guilt tore at her. She hadn't meant to abandon them. Martin had always seemed to take offense when she'd spoken of them or her desire to see them. He had felt her new life should be enough to sustain her. To him, any mention of her past or her desire to see her family was a slap in the face of all he had given her.  

If Rebecca lived through this ordeal and made it back to that ranch, that was going to change. She would be going on a trip to visit her family and Martin would simply have to accept that.  

As the darkness grew around her, Rebecca knew she should return to the cabin. It surprised her that Brantley trusted her enough to give her this space. Or maybe trust had nothing to do with it. Perhaps he didn't care enough about her or her situation to have any concern with what she did.  

With a final sniffle, Rebecca wiped her face clean once more and pushed herself to her feet. Returning to the porch, Rebecca found Brantley sitting exactly where she had left him.  

He seemed to be deep in thought as he stared off into the distance and his cigarette glowed orange in the darkness. Rebecca decided to leave him be. She stepped past him and was nearly to the door when his deep, strong voice filled the quiet.  

"I never knew my father. He died before I ever got a chance to know him. My mama was a damn good woman—the best human I've ever known. I loved her and respected her and it damn near killed me when she died of fever when I was eleven years old. Some men found me, they were going to kill me and I was saved at the last minute by Hoff. We've been riding together since that day. I've saved him several times, he's saved me. We've had each other's backs. I don't always agree with what he does. Hell, I don't even take part in most of what he does, but he's the closest thing to family that I have left so... that's why I'm with 

these people.“

Rebecca had no real idea what to say and so she said nothing. She felt that kinship with Brantley grow. They were both people who had lost something and tried hard to make the best out of the life that had followed. They'd both been placed on paths by events completely out of their control.  

Rebecca wrapped her arms around herself and Brantley tipped his head. "There's a thing you know now," he stated. "Get some sleep, Rebecca. Maybe tomorrow you'll be sleeping at home."  

---

Rebecca lay in her tiny brass bed, tossing and turning upon the lumpy mattress. Sleep proved elusive and her frustration with seeking it grew.  

Rising from the bed, Rebecca slipped out of the tiny room and stood in the moonlight shining through one of the cabin's small windows. She glanced around the small cabin interior but didn't see Brantley anywhere. Where did the man sleep?

She heard a masculine groan from outside the open cabin door. Was he still on the porch? Rebecca stepped out the door and saw Brantley curled up on his spread out bedroll on the worn wooden planks.  

She simply studied him a moment. The man was fascinating to look at. His sharp features, dark tousled hair and lithe frame seemed to consistently catch and hold her attention.  

Brantley moaned again and his jaw tightened as he thrashed a bit upon the rough blanket. Rebecca frowned. It was as if the man was battling some unseen opponent. His moaning and thrashing began to increase in intensity.  

Rebecca knew better than to attempt to get close and rouse him. Men lost in bad dreams could often be dangerous upon awakening. She glanced to the left, saw the broom sitting beside the door and grabbed it.  

Holding the whiskered end, Rebecca jabbed poked at his calf. "Brantley? Wake up."  

Those intense green eyes flew open and instantly found hers. Rebecca felt her body heat under his hungry gaze. She trembled as warmth filled her core.  

Brantley sat up and held out his arm, hooking his finger. His deep voice was rough—though Rebecca sensed it wasn't sleepiness that had the gruffness there. "Come here."

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Rebecca swallowed hard before her tongue darted across her lip. There was something carnal in Brantley’s gaze. Something that made her want to forget everything else and simply throw herself wantonly into his arms.

But she was a married woman. She had made vows to her husband... the same husband who had entertained several mistresses during their eight years of marriage and expected her to simply 'be okay' with it.  

Never in her life had she felt a want like she felt with Brantley's hungry eyes on her. Surely if she gave in, just this once, it would be no worse than Martin's own indiscretions. What was good for the goose was good for the gander—isn't that what people said?

Rebecca took a step forward before hesitating. She should do this....

Brantley shoved himself to his feet in one fluid, graceful motion. He had shed his sling and he rolled his broad shoulders. Once more that finger hooked, beckoning her closer. "Come here, Rebecca."  

In that moment, Rebecca lost herself and forgot every reason why she should resist her lust. Her feet carried her forward, much on their own accord. The heat radiating from Brantley's lean body engulfed her as she came to a stop mere with mere inches separating them.  

Rough calloused fingers gently brushed along her cheek. Fire nearly swallowed her whole. "I want to have you, but, I won't take you if you're unsure. I'm not that kind of man."  

Rebecca swallowed hard. Brantley was giving her a way out. She should take it. She should flee back into the cabin, lock herself away and not give in to the desire raging within her.  

Rebecca met his green eyes and felt the tremble in her lips. "I'm not unsure. I want to have you too."  

---

(A/N) Hey y’all. For some unknown, annoying reason this sex scene

was giving me the WORST case of writers block i’ve ever had! I would sit down to write and just couldn’t… so I’m going to stop it here and continue on with the story below. Hopefully, one day, i’ll be able to add it in. But, for those who need to know. What happens is some earth-shaking, thigh-quaking, toe-curling, out-of-body then back-into-body, angels singing hallelujah sex…. Then they fall asleep in each other arms.

---

Hoff was equal parts annoyed, angry and intrigued. Once again, Martin Smallwood had sent Samson back to Hoff with another offer of less money than Hoff had requested.  

What could that tiny waif of a woman possibly done to her husband to make the man have so little concern for her safety?

"What are we gonna do, boss?" Samson asked from the open flap of Hoff's tent. "Do you want me to take him another message?"

Hoff stared into the flickering light of the kerosene lamp on the ground in front of him. He rubbed at his jaw a moment before smiling. "No. 

I am going to be taking Mr. Smallwood his next message. And it’s going to be a demand he won’t have the nerve to counter.“

Samson left the tent and Hoff let out a sigh and sat back. He hadn't planned on hurting Martin's little wife, but, it would seem that he had no choice. Martin Smallwood was going to learn the hard way that you didn't negotiate with the men who held your wife's life in their hands.  

Even, after Hoff's persuasion, Martin handed over the money to have his wife returned, he'd be getting back less wife than he'd lost. It was time to pay a visit to Brantley and Mrs. Smallwood and fetch himself a souvenir that was bound to have Martin loosening the strings on his money pouch. 

A/N: i know.. i know.. it’s short! But that’s because writers block refused to let me write half the chapter! The next chapter will be longer! And the writers block is no longer an issue so you’ll have it within the next day or so!! Love y’all!

~Nicole

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Rebecca woke from a peaceful sleep, finding that she was still wrapped snugly in Brantley’s arms. Her eyes wandered down his angled face, so peaceful in slumber. She took in the lines of his neck that led down to those broad, well-muscled shoulders.

His strong arm was wrapped around her and her bare skin was flush against his torso. This was a new situation for Rebecca who had never before awaken in a man's arms.... She'd never fallen asleep with a man either. Martin had his own bedroom and she was expected to leave it and return to her room when he'd finished with her.  

But Brantley had loved her body in ways that Rebecca had not known possible. He had taken time to taste and worship every last inch of her and she'd found her release countless times before they'd both collapsed upon the lumpy mattress and fell deep and contentedly asleep, curled up into each other.  

Rebecca's soul was conflicted. On one hand, she felt more at peace and alive here with Brantley than she'd felt in nearly a decade. The connection she felt with his kindred spirit was strong and it was real and it felt so very right. But on the other hand....

On the other hand she wore another man's ring. A man who had paid good money for her. A man who had been decent to her all these years despite her inability to give him the one thing he truly desired. Not to mention, she was only here with Brantley because she'd been kidnapped by the men he called family.

But, that wasn't Brantley's fault and he had offered to allow her to leave—which she knew would mean trouble for him; possibly even death when his gang members returned.  

Suddenly feeling overwhelmed and in desperate need of air, Rebecca disentangled herself from Brantley's body and slid from the bed. He grunted but showed no other signs of waking. Slipping into her clothes quickly, Rebecca left the tiny room and entered the main cabin, realizing there was early morning light streaming through the windows.  

After a quick trip to the outhouse, Rebecca decided to see to some breakfast. After being denied simple household chores and duties for so long, it felt liberating to do them once more.  

After building a fire in the cookstove, Rebecca peeled several potatoes and placed them and some eggs in a pan to fry.  

She walked to the window, as they cooked, and stared out at the miles of land stretching off into the horizon. Why did she feel so comfortable here? Why did this shack, which was essentially a prison, feel more a home after a couple of days than Martin's giant mansion after nearly a decade?

As her mind struggled to come up with the answer to her questions, Rebecca felt a strong set of arms wrap around her middle and a warm mouth caressed her bare neck. Trembles coursed through her. Brantley's touch inspired heat and hunger like she had never known and yet it already felt familiar and warm and somehow comforting.  

"Good morning," he greeted, his deep voice washing against her ear and rumbling out of the broad chest pressed to her back.  

Rebecca leaned into him and let out a shaking breath. "Good morning."  

"Why did you leave the bed?"

Rebecca hadn't been expecting that question. She laid her arms over his on her stomach and shrugged a shoulder. "We're going to need food to keep our strength up," she replied, hoping her voice contained the teasing coyness she was attempting.  

Brantley grunted. He pulled away, spun her around gently and then pulled her back against him, this time smoothing hair from her face and looking into her eyes. "Don't lie. Despite my upbringing and unlawful ways, I am a fairly educated man and I'm good at reading. Right now, your eyes are telling one hell of a story. Do you regret last night?"

Rebecca didn't answer right away. She looked into those green eyes and found she couldn't speak. He seemed so damn vulnerable as he searched her gaze. He would be hurt if she said yes but she knew she had to tell the truth. What was the truth? Did she regret what they had shared?

"No. No, I don't regret anything about last night."  

Those strong, angled cheeks crinkled as a smile spread across his face. He swooped low and kissed her—a touch so gentle and so natural.  

Memories of walking into the kitchen on early mornings and seeing her own mother and father all wrapped up like this, sharing quiet kisses and touches, flashed through her mind.  

Brantley was her one.... Brantley was the man for her just like her father had been the man for her mother. With Brantley, Rebecca could have a life of love.  

Except she couldn't.  

She was married another man and Brantley was, in an essence, married to the gang. Neither was free to envision any real future with the other.  

What she had found with Brantley was a temporary daydream of a life she might have had had fate sent her on a different path.  

A scent reached her nose and Rebecca quickly pulled away. "The potatoes are burning!" she exclaimed.  

After saving their breakfast, the two sat at the rickety table and ate together. When they were finishing their meal, Brantley reached out and took her hand. "They'll probably be coming for you soon."  

Rebecca felt her heart twist. She didn't want to leave Brantley—but on the flip side of that coin, if Martin didn't pay, Hoff and the men would probably kill her. Brantley couldn't protect her against so many even if he cared enough to stand against them.

"It's taken awhile... What if Martin didn't pay?" she whispered, the words somehow twisting their way around the lump in her throat.  

Brantley's green eyes narrowed. "Why do you seem so worried he won't?"  

Rebecca pulled her hand from his, tore her eyes from his gaze and wrapped her arms around herself as shame and sadness overwhelmed her. "I'm barren, Brantley. Martin doesn't want to admit that aloud but we both know it's true. He resents me terribly because of that and I can't blame him. He wanted a young wife to give him children—that was his only reason for marrying. He paid a good deal of money and I was supposed to give him children in return. He may choose to not waste money on a worthless wife twice."

Brantley's voice was low, even and carefully controlled when he spoke. "You're a woman, Rebecca, not a goddamn broodmare."

A tear threated to spill from her eye and she blinked it away. She could barely form words as she stared at the floor. "Not to him."  

The words no sooner left her lips and Brantley was on his feet and pulling her to hers. She frowned. "Be careful.. you're not wearing your sling. You'll hurt your shoulder." She had seen the healing bullet wound there and he had told her about the card game gone wrong. She thought it said a lot about the man Brantley was that he hadn't killed the man who had shot him. Brantley might ride with murderers but, clearly, he wasn't one.  

Brantley growled. "My shoulder is fine." He pulled her close. "If your husband has any sense at all, he'll pay any price in the world to get you back. Hell, Rebecca, if you were mine and someone took you away, I'd tear the gates off hell itself to get you back."  

Rebecca moaned as everything within her body and soul yearned to be Brantley's. Reality, however, was a cruel truth "But I'm not yours."  

Brantley's mournful green eyes spoke volumes and let her know that he was just as unhappy with that fact as she was. He dropped his head and kissed her lips in a tender caress. Rebecca felt her heart beat quicken as she kissed him back.

"I better go tend to my horse,"  Brantley sighed as he slowly pulled away.  

"Should you put your sling back on?" she asked, fussing with the front of her dress. "You don't want to hurt yourself."  

Brantley's rich laughter filled the cabin. "Look at you already nagging me to death."  

Rebecca could do little more than smile as Brantley sat his hat upon his head and left the cabin.  

Life wasn't fair—it wasn't fair at all.  

---

Brantley stepped into the dusty barn and greeted the roan mare that waited there. As he went about seeing to her food trough, Brantley thought about the sudden turn his life had taken.

Never had Brantley thought a woman like Rebecca would come crashing into his life—but she had. And now everything had changed. Never had he laid he with a woman and felt it clear down in his soul. It was as if Rebecca had grabbed hold of something deep inside of him and branded it hers.  

It ripped and tore at his pride and his soul to know that Rebecca wasn't truly his. Soon, he would have to give her back to another man....

....or would he?

It was clear that Rebecca was feeling the same pull, the same want, the same need that he felt. She didn't love her husband. She had told Brantley enough about the son of a bitch to let him know Martin Smallwood had no real love for his wife and did not  deserve a woman with her depth and spirit.  

They could run. He could go in the cabin, swoop her up and ride hard in whichever direction the horse decided to take them in. Brantley knew Hoff and the men would come for them but he knew Rebecca was tough and Brantley knew how to survive—he'd spent his entire life doing just that.  

Brantley's mind made up and his shoulders tense with determination, Brantley knew he had to go have a talk with Rebecca. A talk about futures. A talk that Brantley had never, not in his wildest stretches of imagination, pictured he would have.  

Stepping toward the barn door to go do just that, Brantley realized he was too late when the sound of thundering hooves reached his ears.

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Brantley rushed from the barn with his hand on his gun. That hand fell away when he recognized the gang riding in and coming fast. There was no way he’d reach the cabin before they did—they were already thundering past him.

Part of Brantley—the part that wanted to keep Rebecca as his own—wanted to fight them. He wanted to draw his gun and burn down as many men as he could.  

But damn, Hoff had been his 

family for as long as he could remember….and Rebecca wasn’t his. Hell, if he tried to fight now, he was practically signing his own death certificate and probably hers as well.

He couldn't risk her life for his own selfish reasons. Brantley had to let her go.  

Brantley walked pointedly toward the cabin with dread swirling around in his gut. He did what he'd spent his life doing and turned off his emotions—carefully schooling his expression to ensure he gave away none of what he was feeling.  

"About time you made it back," Brantley stated, approaching Hoff as he and the other five men dismounted. "I've just about had enough of playing nursemaid."  

Hoff shook his head. Brantley could see the tension in the other man's posture. "You're the only man I know that can be locked away with a beautiful woman and 

not enjoy himself.“

Brantley chose not to respond. Instead he placed himself on the steps so no one would enter the cabin before him.  

Samson chuckled as he scratched at his crotch. "

I’d be enjoyin’ the hell out of myself.“

Brantley grunted as he pulled a rolled cigarette from his pocket and placed it between his lips. "Yeah, but then the woman would have been forced to kill herself and I doubt her husband would pay for a corpse."  

When Samson opened his mouth to speak again, Hoff silenced him with a sharp glance. Brantley noticed all the men sharing odd looks—it was clear they knew something that Hoff wasn't in any hurry to have Brantley know.  

"How's my prisoner?" Hoff inquired.  

Brantley didn't let his unease show. He struck a match and lit the cigarette dangling from his lip. Sliding the matchbox into his pocket, he met Hoff's gaze. "Almost as ready to go home as I am to see her go."  

It was a lie, of course, but a necessary one. These men were sharks and they'd smell blood in the water if Brantley let himself bleed. He wasn't eager to die and he needed to keep Rebecca alive.  If the men knew Brantley's true feelings, they may hurt the woman just to go at the first weakness Brantley had ever shown them.

He blew out a puff of smoke. "I played nursemaid for you. Where's my money?"

Hoff scratched at his scarred cheek before stepping closer and slapping Brantley on the back. "Let's get in out of the sun and talk money. The men and I are eager to get a bite to eat."  

Brantley was powerless to stop the six men from surging forward and entering the cabin he'd spent the last couple days sharing with Rebecca. His eyes quickly scanned the interior but it was clear Rebecca had heard the men approaching and hidden herself away in the back room.  

"You didn't let her go, did you?" Willis inquired, settling down at table.  

Brantley raised his brow. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"Hell, I don't hear any whimpering, maybe he killed her," Gilman sneered.  

Brantley looked down his nose at the weasely bastard he hated so badly. "Only cowards whimper, Gilman. You oughta know that. I've heard you do it a time or two."  

Gilman stepped closer, his hand resting on his revolver. Brantley kept his posture relaxed and made no move toward his own weapon. "One of these days, Brantley, you won't be Hoff's little pet no more and he'll stop protecting you. I'll be the one that kills you then."  

Brantley simply chuckled. Hoff intervened by putting a hand on Gilman's shoulder and moving the man back. "Brantley doesn't need my protection, Gilman. The only way a man like you could kill a man like him would be to shoot him in the back."  

As the men began raiding the meager food supplies to whip up something to eat, Brantley placed himself directly in front of the door to the room Rebecca was hidden in. He leaned against the scarred wood and smoked his cigarette, watching the gang from beneath the brim of his hat.  

"Won't Mr. Smallwood be expecting his wife?" Brantley asked, as the men took their time to finish their meal.  

Hoff belched loudly. "Naw, I don't believe he is. He has no reason to be."  

Brantley tensed. "And why's that?"

Brantley saw Hoff cast a glance at the other man and Brantley found himself becoming cornered by six men as he stood against the door—and he didn't miss the way they all had their hands on their guns.  

"Because the bastard hasn't paid."  

"He's refusing?" Brantley asked, lifting up the brim of his hat.  

Hoff shook his head. "Not quite. He's 

negotiating. Can you believe that? The bastard actually thinks it’s a negotiation. He thinks I’m asking more than the woman’s worth.“

Brantley knew there wasn't a damn thing he could do. He was a cornered lion and the rest of the  pride was closing in, eager to rip open his throat. If he made a move for his weapon, he'd be killed without a second thought.  

What kind of man was Martin Smallwood? What kind of man left his wife at the whim of lawless men? Rebecca was damn well worth whatever price Hoff had asked... she was worth everything.  

"Take your gun belt off, Brantley, and toss it to me. I'll also be wanting you to hand over both your knives and the spare gun in your boot."  

"I only take my weapons off for one thing, Hoff," Brantley warned, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. "And none of you men is quite my type."  

Hoff's eyes narrowed as his jaw hardened. "I mean it, Brantley. Weapons now."  

"And why exactly are you taking my weapons? Brantley asked, tossing down his cigarette and squashing it beneath his boot.  

Hoff merely stared and the other five men tensed. Brantley knew he had no real choice. He couldn't take all six of them at once. And he didn't want shots fired at him while he stood in front of the door that Rebecca was no doubt standing behind.  

Goddammit. Life was damn cruel is what it was. Brantley finally been seeing a clear picture of what he wanted—who he wanted—in his future. He'd wanted to give Rebecca that happiness she said she'd trade everything in her life for... but now there was a good damn chance they were both going to die.  

Without another word, Brantley unhooked his gun belt and handed it over to Hoff who tossed it to Samson behind him. Next came Brantley's knives and his spare gun. He stood there bare of weapons and feeling damn helpless as Hoff continued to stare him down.  

Hoff held up Brantley's large knife and smiled. "The reason I took your weapons is a simple one. I have a real good feeling your reaction to what we're fixing to do to that lady in there is gonna be a bad one."

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Petrified did not come close to describing the way Rebecca felt huddled in the corner of her windowless room upon the lumpy mattress that Brantley had so expertly made love to her on mere hours before.

She had heard the men. She knew that Martin had not paid them. They were here now to make her pay for her husband's stubbornness. Her heart hurt to realize she had been right and wrong in so many ways.  

She had worried Martin wouldn't pay for her twice but, yet, she had thought the man cared about her. She had thought that part of his heart would hold a fondness for her after eight years together.  

She had been so very wrong about that.  

Rebecca should have known. Martin rarely even spoke to her and the only time he touched her was when he called her into his bed in an attempt to produce a child—which he'd been doing less and less as it became obvious she was unable to give him one. They never spoke, never shared dreams, never had talks of the future. He refused to let her see her family. He refused to let her have friends outside of his own. He refused to let her do anything other than sit in that house and feel the guilt of her barren womb.  

Rebecca realized, in that moment, that she'd been a prison for nearly a decade. Sure, it had been a fancy, gilded one but it had been a prison just the same.  

Brantley had shown her a peek of something different. She'd seen the chance of a love like the love her parents had shared. The gentle touches for no reason, the warm glances, the meaningful, quiet conversations.....

But that too had a been a lie. She did not belong to Brantley and he did not belong to her. Life had come to tear their roots from the ground before they'd even had a chance to bloom.  

The commotion outside the door grew louder, drawing her from her self-lamenting thoughts. She heard Brantley's angry voice denying the men entry and then she heard the unmistakable sound of a fist striking flesh.  

The scuffle was loud but it was short-lived. Very soon, the door was being kicked open and she found herself staring at a bright-eyed Hoff. He had a smile on his face that curved the scar on his cheek and caused her blood to freeze in her veins.  

"Hello there, Mrs. Smallwood. As tempting a picture as you paint all curled up on that bed, I'm afraid my visit isn't what you rich, high society types would call a social one."  

Hoff stepped further into the small room with two other men flanking him. All of them had knives in their hands—large knives. Knives that Rebecca could imagine slicing into her skin and cutting her to pieces.  

She let her gaze dart behind them and saw a beaten and bloody-faced Brantley led into the room by three more men. Two with guns in his ribs and the third behind him with a gun to the back of his head. He appeared nearly dead on his feet and it was clear the men had beaten him badly.  

Poor Brantley... His pain was her fault.  

"I'm afraid we had to make sure Brantley wouldn't be in any shape to get worked up when we do what we have to do to you, my dear."  

Rebecca swallowed hard, keeping her knees curled up in her chest. "What exactly 

are you going to do to me?“ she asked, forcing a steadiness to her voice that she did not feel in the slightest.

Was she going to be raped? Or killed? What was Hoff's plan?  

"Leave her alone," Brantley growled, jerking against the men holding him and earning himself a solid punch to the gut.  

Rebecca whimpered his name which caused Hoff to laugh heartily. "I should have known this would happen if I left Brantley alone with a pretty woman. He always had a softness in him that the rest of us lacked—that's why he never quite fit in. But he's good with a gun and tough as sun-dried cow leather. That's why I keep him around."  

Rebecca chose not to speak. What could she say? There were no words she could voice that would help her situation.  

Hoff motioned to the men on either side of him and they stepped toward Rebecca. Fight or flight became her only focus. She unfolded her legs and leaped from the bed. But where could she run? The room was small, there were no windows and the three men holding Brantley were blocking the only door.  

Still, she attempted to elude the approaching men only to find herself grabbed roughly and thrown back onto the bed. One of the men pinned down her legs while the other held her arms tight behind her in a tight embrace that caused her shoulders to scream in pain.  

Rebecca screamed. She screamed. She begged for them to stop. All of her pleas were in vain.  

Hoff approached the bed with Brantley's voice roaring in the background. Rebecca knew he couldn't help her. She was at Hoff's mercy and that was terrifying—Hoff the man who had shot an unarmed Felix dead in cold blood. The man who had those dark, emotionless eyes that spoke to a blackness in his soul.  

Rebecca froze and did not dare move a muscle as Hoff held out that large knife and laid the blade against her cheek. She trembled and shook as her tears slid against the cold metal.  

"That husband of yours is saying you aren't quite worth what I'm asking. He keeps attempting to negotiate your worth. Can you believe that?"

Rebecca swallowed hard but said nothing. What could she say?  

"I believe he 

will pay what I’m asking; he’s just going to need a bit of encouragement.“ Hoff’s gaze went to the fat man who was holding her arms and breathing his hot, foul breath against her ear. “Give me one arm, Samson.”

As soon as Rebecca's arm was free, she swung it hard and caught Hoff in the face. The man's eyes widened with surprise just before his laughter filled the room. "A woman with spirit? That's a rare find."  

His arm shot out, and gripped her wrist. The hold he had on her was vice tight and Rebecca knew he'd leave behind bruises. But as he brought that knife toward her hand, Rebecca knew bruises were going to be the least of her worries.  

"I have found that the best way to offer 

encouragement when it’s needed is to offer it one piece at a time.“

Rebecca screamed and sturggled against the men holding her. She yelled and yelled until her voice was hoarse as that knife blade pressed against the finger she wore her wedding band on. Her screams and yells grew in intensity as that blade pierced through her skin and Hoff began to work it back and forth as if he were sawing a branch.  

Blood coated her hand, dripping on the bed. Nausea swirled in her gut as Rebecca's vision began to swim. She found consciousness becoming harder and harder to hold onto. Never had she known such pain.  

Hoff was laughing and that was the last sound Rebecca heard before her world went black and she fell into unconsciousness.

---

Pain was the one resounding awareness echoing in Rebecca's head as she began to awaken. Her finger hurt terrribly—never had she felt such a pain in her life.  

Her eyes fluttered open and, with a moan, Rebecca glanced at her hand. Her moan quickly became a scream. She'd been mistaken. Her finger was not hurting—it was gone.  

An arm tightened around her middle and whatever she was laying against tensed. "Hey now, love, you gotta quit that screaming. My head is killing me."  

Rebecca's mouth slammed shut. Brantley was holding her. They were in the tiny room at the back of the cabin and she was lying on his lap on the tiny brass bed.  

"Brantley?" she whispered, her voice raspy from over-use.

His lips gently caressed her brow. "I'm here. They're gone."  

"And so is my finger..." Rebecca's stomach rolled and she knew she was going to vomit. As if he'd been expecting that reaction, Brantley's gnarled hand was instantly sticking a metal pan in her face and Rebecca proceeded to lose the contents of her stomach inside it.  

Rebecca fell back against Brantley, feeling more exhausted than she'd ever felt. Her hand was bandaged, though the white cotton was soaked in blood. "Did you do this?" she asked.  

"I cleaned it up and bandaged it, yeah. I don't have anything to give you for the pain. The bastards didn't seem to care that you'd be hurting."  

Rebecca closed her eyes tightly. "Those bastards are your family. Remember?"

A low growl, rumbled from Brantley's chest and Rebecca had never heard so much hatred in a voice when he replied. "Not anymore."

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Brantley held Rebecca in his arms and struggled to understand his tangled, raging emotions.  

Hoff had been like a brother to him—sure Brantley hadn't agreed with a lot of what the man did, but Hoff had always had his back. They'd been riding together for close to twenty years. Hoff had just taken those two decades of companionship and thrown every single second of them out as if they'd meant nothing at all to him.  

And for what? For money? Brantley bristled. Money had never been real important to him. He'd known Hoff favored the stuff but he hadn't realized just how cold and heartless the other man could be to attain a bit of it.  

Brantley let his eyes travel to Rebecca's bandaged hand and he held her tighter. He wished he could have protected her. He wished he could have somehow stopped what Hoff had done to her. But, Brantley was only one man and he'd been against six. Not even he could stand up to those odds.  

Which wasn't to say he hadn't tried because he had. He'd gotten one or two good punches in before they'd beaten him to a bloody pulp and dragged him into Rebecca's room. His aching, bruised body was proof of their determination to torture an innocent woman.  

Brantley hadn't realized Hoff had such evil in him. He hadn't realized he could be a man who laughed as he eagerly sawed off a woman's finger. Brantley's own stomach rolled as he remembered watching that gristly scene. He saw the blood spreading across her pale, tender skin and heard her ear piercing screams.  

Now she was awake once again and laying silently in his arms after realizing what had been done to her. Brantley wondered when she would speak again. What would she say? Would she blame him for not protecting her?

"Brantley?"  

His whispered name leaving her lips caused an odd tugging sensation in his chest. "Yeah?"

She turned her head and looked at him for the first time since she'd awakened. Those doe brown eyes widened. "Your face!"  

Brantley touched his fingertips to his welted mouth and the gash along his cheekbone. "Yeah, I got a face."  

"They hurt you... I'm sorry."  

Brantley raised his brow. "You're apologizing to me? I'm the one who needs to be begging forgiveness, Rebecca. I should have gotten you out of here. We should have run."  

"We still could," Rebecca spoke up. "You said they're gone. We could leave before they come back."  

Brantley let out a long sigh and leaned his head back against the wall. "No, we can't. They took my weapons, they took my horse and I know damn well Hoff didn't just leave us here unguarded. Two of the men he had with him are damn good with rifles at a long distance—I can promise they're watching us and will shoot us if we attempt to leave here."  

Rebecca sagged against him. "What are we going to do? I don't want to go home to 

him, Brantley…. What if he still doesn’t pay and they come back even more angry and desperate?“

Brantley knew sugar-coated words would be helpful but he didn't have any of those in him. "If that happens then we'll die together, because those bastards will have to kill me before I let them touch you again."  

Rebecca was silent for a long moment. "I don't want either one of us to die," she finally whispered.  

"Neither do I," Brantley agreed. "Martin will pay Hoff's price—Hoff is good at getting what he wants. Then you'll go back to your home where you'll be safe."  

"And what will happen to you? Won't they kill you once I'm gone?"

"No, I'm more valuable to Hoff alive. Like he said, I'm good with a gun and tough as old cow leather."

"I don't want to go back to him. I never want to see his face again. 

He did this to me. He is probably hopeful that Hoff will kill me so he will be free of our marriage.“

Brantley could hear the hurt in Rebecca's voice and it made his hatred grow for a man he had never met. However, Brantley tightened his jaw, "Martin 

will pay Hoff what he’s asking. You’ll go home to him because it’s the only way you’ll be safe.“

"Safe?"Rebecca shook her head. "I wasn't safe before. They got me."  

"Hoff won'tdo that again. He's a lot of things but he's also smart. If Martin has given him this much trouble, Hoff won't risk kidnapping you a second time for more money."  

"What about you? I don't want to abandon you here with them..."  

Brantley felt that tug in his chest. Damn, but it was a strange sensation to know that someone cared about him. He hadn't had anyone truly give a damn about him since he'd been a child.  

"I'll be alright," he promised Rebecca, brushing a tender kiss to her tangled brown hair.  

Rebecca let out a heaving, broken sigh. "Life isn't fair."  

Brantley humorless chuckle echoed against her temple. "Hell, we both learned that at an early age, I reckon."  

---

Martin Smallwood sat at his desk, turning his delicately engraved pocket watch over and over in his trembling hands.

Was Rebecca dead? Oh, how he secretly hoped that she was. Martin winced. Those thoughts alone made him sound a monster but he wasn't an evil man... He simply couldn't see paying good money for a wife who had already proven she couldn't give him the one thing he truly required from a wife—a child.  

His most trusted friends, Horace and Lester, stood beside the polished mantle while their wives, Sara and Marie, sat on the floral settee, wringing their gloved hands.  

None of them knew that Martin had been in contact with the kidnappers. None of them knew he had refused payment—or at least attempted to lower the payment amount. If they found out it could spell disaster for him and his reputation among the upper class in their area.

Martin shivered at the thought.  

"Are you certain we shouldn't contact Sheriff Clooney? Or perhaps have Judge Pemphrey send for the US Marshall?" Sara spoke up.  

Martin shook his head. "The letter was very direct. Any contact with law enforcement will only ensure my wife's death."  

Horace rubbed at his neck. "My wife is right, Martin. I hate to be the voice of reason but if you haven't heard from them in nearly a week, maybe they've already killed Rebecca."  

The two women on the settee whimpered. Martin slid his watch in his pocket and took a sip of brandy from his crystal glass. "My wife is not dead. The roughians that have her are merely keeping me in suspense to build my worry and ensure that I give them whatever payment they deem necessary."  

"But Martin..." Marie began and Martin held up his hand to silence the woman.  

"Don't. You will kill my wife if you insist on going to the authorities." He turned to Horace and Lester. "Perhaps you should take your wives home. I believe the suspense of being here is too much on them."  

Sara squared her shoulders and gathered a deep breath, clearly prepared to voice her displeasure. The tongue lashing no doubt coming Martin's way was prevented when the door to his office flew open, bouncing off the plaster wall.  

Martin rushed to his feet and his heart fell into the pit of his stomach. Barging into his tidy office were two men and he recognized the fat, hairy dirtier of the pair.  

It was the man who had come to him several times requesting ransom. Did that mean Rebecca was still alive and they were back to demand their money once again?

Martin cursed. He'd hoped to convince his friends to leave before any more men came to see him. Now, no matter what the men demanded, Martin had to give it to them, or risk appearing like a monster—more of a monster than they would already see him as once they discovered this wasn't his first meeting with his wife's kidnappers.  

Martin's attention was drawn to the second man. He was tall and strong with a jagged scar across his cheek. He strode across the room with an air that made it clear he was a boss and accustomed to being treated as such.  

Martin knew he was looking at the leader of the gang.  

The scarred man went straight to the desk, grabbed up the decanter of whiskey and took a swig straight from the top. He swiped his dirty shirt sleeve across his mouth and Martin found himself looking into the most lifeless and cold pair of nearly black eyes he'd ever seen in his life.  

"Hello there, Mr. Smallwood. Nice to meet you. My name's Hoff."  

Martin was trembling as he gave a shaky swallow. "Have you killed my wife?" he asked, noting, for the first time, the blood that was soaked into the bottoms of Hoff's shirt sleeves.  

Hoff clicked his tongue. "It would be your fault if I have, wouldn't it? But before we get to the fate of your wife, let me explain why I'm here."  

Hoff sat down the decanter. "After you sent Samson here away a few times, and refused to pay for your wife's return, I knew I needed to come and have a chat with you myself."  

"Martin?" Lester spoke up. "You've met these men before?"

"You refused to pay for Rebecca's safe return?" Sara demanded in horror.  

Martin tugged at his collar, sweat began to slick his skin. He shook his head. "No.... I merely requested the amount be lowered."  

"You tried to 

negotiate.“ Hoff stepped closer to the desk and Martin stumbled back when Hoff slammed his hands down on the polished wood and his eyes flashed. “I negotiate with no one!”

Martin's short panting breaths were the only sound sin the office for several long moments. Then, just as suddenly as the anger had appeared in Hoff's expression and movements, the men chuckled, relaxed and settled himself down in the chair. "You have a nice home here, Mr. Smallwood. Quite 

expensive. I believe, now that I’ve actually seen your home and the extravagance you live in, I’m realizing I may have been generous in the amount I asked you to pay.“

Martin's knees were shaking as Hoff motioned toward his large desk chair. Martin sat down slowly, sparing a quick glance at his friends and seeing their horror at realizing the truth of his frugal nature.  

Oh, how he regretted it now! If he could simply go back and redo things, he would have payed the money for Rebecca the first time it was asked of him. Now, his reputation was ruined and it was going to cost him even 

more to get his wife back.

"What do you want?" Martin asked, his voice strained.  

Hoff straightened up several papers on Martin's desk. "I want two thousand dollars for the return of the lovely doe-eyed Rebecca Smallwood."  

Martin winced. That was a small fortune—it was money he had, yes, but it was so much more than he wanted to pay.  

As if Hoff could read his hesitation, the man chuckled. "I can see your reluctance." He snapped his fingers and his fat, hairy companion stepped forward, producing a dirty folded rag from his pocket.  

Hoff took the rag and his dark eyes lit as he sat it on the polished desk. "I brought something to encourage you to open your money belt."  

Martin stared at the dirty rag as his stomach swirled. Hoff motioned toward it. "Go ahead, Mr Smallwood. Don't be rude. Open your gift."  

His hands shaking, Martin pulled a face as he reached out and pulled aside the top of the folded rag. "Dear God!" he exclaimed as he realized what was inside.  

Leaping to his feet and stumbling back, Martin felt bile rise in his stomach and was powerless to stop it from bursting from his mouth and splashing upon the polished floor.  

In that rag was a finger—a dainty, bloody finger. A finger wearing his mother's ring. The very ring he had placed upon Rebecca's finger the day they'd become husband and wife.

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Rebecca woke from a fitful, pain-filled sleep. Brantley's arms were loose around her and she could tell by his steady, even breaths that he was sleeping soundly.  

She had no idea how he'd managed to find peace enough to slumber the way he was. As Rebecca's eyes adjusted to the dark and she took in the sight of those welts and bruises marring Brantley's rugged face, guilt and pain and longing all swarmed together in her gut.  

Her heart hurt with the knowledge that she was going to have to leave this man. She had known him such a short time and yet it seemed impossible now to imagine a life without him.  

Tears gathered in her eyes and Rebecca fought them with all her might. Despite the comfort she felt in Brantley's arms, natures call was tugging her from the bed. Clutching her burning, aching, mangled hand to her chest, Rebecca slid from the bed, surprised when Brantley didn't awaken. The beating his so-called friends had given him, had clearly taken its toll.  

Rebecca's legs were weak and wobbling as she opened the door and stepped out into the cabin. Silence as thick and heavy in the air. It was clear they had been left alone.  

Once again, the thought of runing flashed through her mind. What if Brantley was wrong? What if there was no guard? No one to stop them?

With Brantley's experience with survival, surely they would stand a chance at getting away. Hope fluttered in her chest at the thought of a chance—even the smallest one—of a future with Brantley. It was worth any risk.  

Rebecca stepped out into the early morning air. Mist hung heavy and thick. Her eyes were drawn toward a rise a slight distance from the cabin. Was there a man with a gun watching them?

There was only one way to know for sure.  

Rebecca quickly stepped to the outhouse to see to nature. It was a slow and painful process with her bleeding hand.  

Nerves and apprehension swirled inside her as she stepped back out into the morning air. If she was wrong and there 

was a man watching them, would he shoot and kill her? How far would he let her get before he fired a shot?

Gathering every ounce of courage she possessed, which was just barely enough, Rebecca began taking long determined strides away from the cabin. Her heart pounded with more ferocity with each and every step she took.  

When would the bullet come? What would it feel like as it tore through her?  

Rebecca hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until she'd traveled a good distance from the cabin and no bullet had come. She let out all her air in a rush as a smile, a true, joyous smile, curved her lips.  

There was no man—no gun. She and Brantley had a chance!

Rebecca lifted one side of her skirts and was preparing to turn and rush back to Brantley when the crack of a rifle echoed through the peaceful air.  The ground at her feet flew up as the bullet tore into it.  

Rebecca's heart sank. There was a gun. Another gun shot sounded and her skirts tugged as the bullet ripped through them. Instinct overrode everything else. Rebecca turned and raced back toward the cabin.  

She tripped on a rock and scrambled to maintain her footing as yet another bullet struck the ground close to her. With every jar of her body and pound of her heart, the pain in Rebecca's hand gained intensity. Blood dripped through her make-shift bandage.  

Another shot blew past her temple and Rebecca was unable to stifle her scream. Her gaze locked on the cabin. Brantley had come bursting from the door and was rushing toward her. Rebecca cried out when his arms suddenly circled around her, lifted her off the ground and his strong carried her back to the safety of the cabin.  

"Damn you, you foolish woman," Brantley growled as he panted and sat her on her feet. His eye and hands scanned her body. "Are you hit?"

Tears of pain, fear and frustration alike rolled down her cheeks. "No..No, I'm not hit."  

Brantley slammed the cabin door closed and Rebecca frowned when he tossed a fork on the rickety table. Brantley followed her gaze to the utensil and shrugged, "They took the kitchen knives too. I wanted a weapon."  

Rebecca's legs were suddenly too weak to support her. She stumbled to a kitchen chair and fell down hard upon it. Brantley was silent as he disappeared into the back room, returning moments later with several clean strips of white sheet.  

Dropping to his knees in front of her, Brantley began to unwind the bandage from her hand. Rebecca bit her lip hard and breathed deep through her nose to combat the pain.  

"What the hell were you doing out there?" Brantley gently demanded.  

"I... I had to be sure," Rebecca replied quietly. "I wanted so badly for you to be wrong."  

Heaving out a sigh, Brantley got to his feet. He grabbed a kettle of water and returned to his crouched position in front of her. "Turn away, darlin'. I'm gonna be pulling your bandage off now."

Rebecca quickly did as he bid. She had no interest in seeing the damage Hoff had done. The pain was nearly overwhelming as Brantley cleaned her up with the water and wrapped a fresh bandage around her hand.  

Once that task was complete, Brantley rose up and kissed her brow. "You need a doctor."  

"I need you," Rebecca whispered.  

Brantley shook his head. "I'm no good for you, Rebecca. You'd never be safe with me—not now. You need to go home. You need to be safe."

Rebecca chose not to argue. What could she say? It was all just a dream anyhow. Nothing she wanted for her future could ever be a true possibility.  

Brantley sat down in the chair across from her. "Fill the silence, darlin'. Tell me about your family."  

---

Brantley listened to Rebecca's tired voice telling stories about her family and life growing up back east. Despite their poverty, it was clear their home had been full of love.  

Brantley let himself imagine a life with Rebecca in a home full of love and laughter and passion and peace. It was a life he'd never thought on before she had come into his life—now it was a life he desperately wanted but could never have. He wouldn't risk Rebecca's life to have it.  

No matter what he wanted for himself, Brantley wanted her safety more.  

Brantley's thoughts were interrupted by the thundering of horse hooves nearing the cabin. His jaw tensed and his fists clenched.  

"Brantley?" Rebecca's voice was shaking. "What if he didn't pay?"

Brantley reached out an took her right hand gently. "He paid."  

And if he hadn't, and they were about to die, Brantley would bust out of hell and haunt that son of a bitch until he was real good and sorry.

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Neither of them moved or spoke as the hoof beats came to a stop outside the cabin. Brantley held tight to Rebecca’s hand—desperation tight. Hellfire, he didn’t want to lose her but, she wasn’t his to keep.

The hum of voices came from outside followed by the sound of boots on the porch. The cabin door opened and the gang poured in. Six dirty, trail-worn men entered the tiny space, filling the air with their stink.  

"Hello lovebirds," Hoff greeted cheerfully—as if he hadn't sawed off a woman's finger the last time he'd visited. His gaze paused on their joined hands. "I'm afraid I have some news you might not want to hear." Hoff smiled brightly at Rebecca. "Your husband finally saw things my way and it's time for you to go home."  

Brantley was relieved to know Rebecca was going to go home and be safe—but he wasn't looking real forward to letting her go. He met her gaze. Those brown eyes were wide and she was so very pale. Brantley knew she didn't want to return to her husband but she had to—it was the only way she would ever be safe.  

Hoff clicked his tongue. "Come along now, sweet thing. We don't want to keep Mr. Smallwood, or his money, waiting too long."

Hoff grabbed Rebecca's arm roughly and Brantley saw rane snatched up the discarded fork and lunged, pressing the tines tight against his old friends throat. "You won't touch her, Hoff. Not again."  

Hoff and Brantley stared each other down. There was no fear in Hoff's eyes, just coldness and calculation. Brantley was very much aware of the guns aimed his direction, but he wasn't backing down. Backing down, even if it would be the smarter move, would only show weakness, and that was something Brantley couldn't afford just now.  

After several silent moment of tension, it was Hoff who released his hold on Rebecca and took a step back, holding his hands up in surrender. "Alright then, Brantley. None of us will touch her. 

You can place her back in her husband’s loving arms.“

Brantley growled low but said nothing. Hoff knew what he was doing. He knew how to hurt people. The last thing Brantley wanted to do was hand Rebecca to a piece of shit like that husband of hers..... But if that was the only way to keep her safe and keep further harm from coming to her, Brantley would see things through to the end.  

---

Rebecca rode upon Brantley's horse, his strong arm wrapped tight around her, holding her steadily in place against him. It felt so right to be held by him this way but it was an illusion because everything was so very very wrong.  

Gang members rode on every side of them, ensuring that Brantley did not attempt to run. With every step they took away from the cabin, Rebecca knew she was one step closer to Martin and her heart sank at that knowledge.  

She was going back to the man who had risked her life in an attempt to save himself a bit of money—a man who treated her as nothing more than a broodmare, as Brantley had so eloquently stated.  

How could she go back to that life? How could she forget Brantley and the fantasy life she had imagined them sharing together?

"Alright, pull these horses to a stop," Hoff called.  

He rode in front of Brantley and Rebecca and smiled at her. Rebecca hated that smile. There was no kindness, no goodness, in it at all. It was cold and cruel and made her blood freeze. This man had murdered Felix. He had sawed off her finger. And he was going to kill Brantley.  

Rebecca wasn't foolish. She wasn't lacking in intelligence. She knew that once she was back with Martin, Brantley was going to be a dead man. He had signed that death warrant in blood when he had put that fork to Hoff's throat—when he had protected her.  

"It'll just be me and you two riding the rest of the way to Mr. Smallwood. I don't want to show up with all the men and scare the poor fellow away. He's not the bravest of men I've ever dealt with."  

Hoff began to ride ahead once again and, without a word, Brantley let his horse in step behind him.  

Rebecca's stomach clenched and she swallowed hard when she saw Martin's silhouette in the distance, standing beside his cart. As they rode close in to him and brought their horses to a stop, Rebecca felt her sadness and dread turning to anger.  

Brantley slid from the horse and helped her down as well. Rebecca didn't miss the way he kept his hand gently on the small of her back as if he were dreading the moment he had to let her go just as badly as she were dreading it.  

"Mr. Smallwood, as you can see your wife is alive and well..."  

"You damaged her. You removed her finger.... That has to affect the price."  

"I'll slit your goddamn throat....." Brantley growled, attempting to move forward.  

Rebecca's elbow in his gut stopped his movements. She was in no hurry to 

see Brantley be killed.

"I share my partners sentiments," Hoff stated, his arms crossing over his chest. "We agreed on an amount. Tell me you aren't backing out now."  

For the first time, Rebecca looked at her husband. He was pale, disheveled and appeared as if he hadn't slept well lately. His mustache wasn't as greased and groomed as he usually kept it and his clothes were quite wrinkled.  

"I'm not changing my mind," he assured Hoff, never meeting Rebecca's gaze. "Here."  

He pulled out his money pouch and handed it to Hoff. "It's all there," he insisted as Hoff began counting the bills.  

"You'll forgive me if I don't trust you," Hoff replied without apology as he continued counting the money.  

Rebecca leaned into Brantley's touch—drawing  what little comfort she could and soaking in the last moments she would ever feel that peaceful contact.  

"Alright then, Brantley." Hoff shoved the money pouch into his pocket. "Give that woman back to her husband."  

Rebecca wanted to scream. She wanted to yell. She wanted to curse the world and the unfairness of it all. Instead, she turned slowly and looked up at Brantley's sharp green eyes. His sharp brow rose and his jaw tensed as he swallowed hard.  

"You gotta go now, Rebecca," he urged, his hand gently running down her arm. 	

A tear slid down her cheek. "I'll never forget you."  

Brantley nodded. "And I'll never forget you. Go live your life, Rebecca. Make it the life you want. Find your happiness."  

Rebecca's heart shattered. "You're my happiness."  

"Come on, Rebecca, it's time to go home now," Martin called. It was clear that he hadn't heard the words she and Brantley had been whispering together.  

Rebecca took a deep, shuddering breath and turned to face her husband. He smiled at her, that condescending expression he always used while interacting with her.  

Rebecca walked to him and when he put his hand on her elbow to lead her to the cart, Rebecca snapped. She jerked away from his touch, clenched her fist and struck him in the jaw with all her might.  

Then she strode to the cart, climbed into the seat and sat in silence as Martin climbed in as well and began to drive them toward the ranch—and away from the man she loved.

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Brantley watched Rebecca ride away, feeling that emptiness in his soul grow deeper with every inch that cart traveled.  

He was aware of the gang members riding in and sliding from their horses. Brantley turned his gaze to Hoff and found the man tilting his head and studying him closely. "So Brantley...."  

Brantley crossed his arms over his chest. "So Hoff."

Brantley knew what was coming. He knew he was going to die. He wasn't afraid of it but that didn't mean he was real eager for it either. He wished he could know for sure that Rebecca would be okay—all he could do was hope that she would take his advice to heart and come away from knowing him with a stronger will to get what she wanted out of life. 	

No woman deserved to be treated the way Martin treated his wife. Hell, Rebecca was a treasure and Martin was a fool.  

"I'm sorry it's come to this," Hoff stated. "We've ridden together a long time."  

"Yeah," Brantley grunted."We have."  

Brantley felt a hand grab his arm. He turned to see that Gilman, the yellow-bellied coward, was the first one coming for him. Brantley swung out and caught Gilman in the jaw, knocking him backward.  

The gang was on him like a pack of dogs. Brantley swung a few hits and landed more than a couple but he was no match for six on one.  

Pain reverberated through his body as he was thrown to the dirt and boots connected with his body over and over and over again. The world became blurry and eventually his body became limp as he lost all strength to defend himself.  

"That's enough," Hoff's voice suddenly called out.  

The kicks stopped suddenly. Each and every breath Brantley struggled to bring in was shallow and stabbing. He could barely see though his swelling eyes and every inch of his body was consumed with pain.  

"Go on now, men. I'll catch up," Hoff ordered. Brantley struggled to concentrate on remembering to breathe as Hoff stepped over him and blocked the sun.  

"You're a fool, Brantley. You threw away a good life for what? For a woman who is married to another man? I had such high hopes for you but I knew deep down this day would come eventually. You lack the heartlessness for this life."

Brantley had a hundred things he could have said in return—if his lungs weren't screaming in protest to something as simple as breathing. Hoff had been the closest thing to family Brantley had had left in the world. Why hadn't Brantley ever noticed the man's complete lack of any kind of decency?

He was unable to offer any resistance as Hoff jerked up his arms and tied his wrists together. Through his swollen eyes, Brantley saw Hoff hop onto his large black gelding.  

Knowing what was coming, Brantley braced himself for the pain. As Hoff urged his horse into a gallop and Brantley was dragged along behind, his battered body bouncing and tearing across the dirt and rocks, all he could think of was Rebecca.  

He imagined himself looking into those deep brown eyes and felt the soft warmth of her body against his. Brantley remembered the taste of her full lips as his world went black.  

---

When they arrived at the home, Rebecca stepped inside feeling more a stranger than she ever had before. The dark, polished furniture, the finery, the extravagence of Martin's money being tossed in her face simply served to make her feel uncomfortable and angry.  

He had enough money for useless solid silver candlesticks upon his over-sized mantle but not the money to pay for his wife's safety without thinking twice—or four times—about it.  

Rebecca ignored Martin's voice as he ordered Tillie, the house servant, to send someone for a doctor. She went up the grand staircase and down the carpeted hall to her bedroom.  

When Rebecca realized that Martin had followed her, she turned quickly. He held up his hand to silence her before she could speak. "I am willing to forgive your earlier hostility and lack of ladylike behavior. I know those men must have put you through unbearable agony."  

Rebecca had always bitten her tongue around her husband. She had always worked so hard to be his image of the 

perfect wife. Those days were over. “ Those men would not have harmed me had my loving husband simply paid the money when they asked.“

It was clear that Martin was surprised by her snappy tone. His eyes widened and he tugged on his collar. "I don't know what they told you but...."  

"Don't." It was Rebecca's turn to raise her hand to silence him. "I know what you did so do not bother to lie to me. Because of you, your greed, I am forever maimed. You will step out of my bedroom now and you will not ever enter it again, nor will you ask me to enter yours."  

Martin stepped forward. "Now see here, this is my home and  you are my wife and my word is law...."  

Rebecca clenched her right fist and strode forward, feeling extreme satisfaction when Martin stumbled backward to avoid her.  

"Okay, I will leave you be until you've had time to calm yourself. I will send the doctor up when he arrives." With those parting words, Martin quickly left her room, closing the door behind him.  

Finally alone, Rebecca went to her bed and sat down upon it as tears began to stream from her eyes and sobs ripped from her chest.  

Brantley.... Was he already dead? She hoped they hadn't made him suffer, but knew that reality was probably much crueler than her hopes. Never would Rebecca know the true happiness she so badly desired. Never would she feel Brantley's arms slide around her as she stood in front of the stove cooking a breakfast for them to share at a rickety table all their own.  

She was back to being nothing but Martin's wife and she wasn't at all certain what to do about that fact. He would never divorce her—he wouldn't want the scandal—and he would never allow her to divorce him, not if she wanted to walk away with anything but the shirt on her back.  

'

Make it the life you want.

Find your happiness.

’ That had been Brantley’s last wish for her—and Rebecca wanted so badly to give him what he wanted.

But how?

Chapter Eighteen

A/N: I am so sorry for the delay in updates! I am in a weird head space the last few months and writing just hasn’t been giving me the joy it once did. But I’m trying! I hope you enjoy the chapter

Chapter Eighteen

Rebecca spent much of the next week alone and barricaded inside her bedroom attempting to mend her broken heart and mangled hand. During that time, Rebecca had thought about her options.

If she left Martin, she would have nothing. No money and no home. She knew no special skills with which to make a living. She was no exceptional cook and her sewing skills were average. She could attempt to get a job in a hotel or the mill in town, at least until she made enough money to travel back east on and return to her family.  

Rebecca decided she would clean herself up, get dressed and go into town to see what kind of work was available. She would have to find someone to take her, however, since she couldn't ride a horse....

An image of Felix flashed through her mind. His  dark, heavily wrinkled skin crinkling as he smiled at her and showed her so much warmth and kindness that night that seemed so long ago. She remembered the vow she had made to herself to get to know the people she had lived amongst and yet been segregated from for so long.  

As Rebecca cleaned up and slid into fresh clothes, her mind was racing. Before she left Martin's home for good and ventured out on her own, Rebecca would do all the things she had longed to do since coming to the ranch.  

She would get to know the workers, learn to saddle and ride a horse. Hook up and drive a cart. She would practice her cooking and cleaning skills around the house and learn to muck out stalls and care for the animals.  

Rebecca would take full advantage of her situation and soak in every ounce of knowledge she could to prepare for life in the world. Deciding that she would begin her studies by finding Tillie, Rebecca left her room and headed down the carpeted hall.  

She heard the murmur of voices from inside Martin's study and paused to eavesdrop on the conversation. "You are my oldest and dearest friends and I am truly hoping I can count on your discretion and silence."  

Rebecca knew Martin must be speaking to Horace and Lester, but why was he requesting their silence? And what was that silence regarding?

"Has she left her room at all, Martin?" Horace questioned.  

"Not to speak to me."

"And after what she's went through, can you blame the poor woman?"Lester demanded.  

Annoyance was plain to hear in Martin's voice when he responded. "I am hopeful that if I allow her space, her anger will fade. She has nothing but the word of a murdering outlaw telling her I refused his payment. It is my hope that I can convince her that is a lie."  

Rebecca rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. Hoff might be a murdering, no-good, snake in the grass and Rebecca might want him dead with a passion, but, she trusted his word one hundred times more than her husband's.

"But it's not a lie," Horace stated and Rebecca could hear the judgment in his tone. "How could you do that, Martin? How could you leave your wife in the hands of those men simply to save yourself a few dollars?"

"I assumed my wife was already dead and they were simply attempting to take my money," Martin replied. "And, unlike your wives who gave you both children to call your own, Rebecca is quite useless in that regard. She is a pleasant woman, she is beautiful and looks quite pleasing on my arm, but I paid a good deal to her family for her hand in marriage and wasn't in any hurry to pay for a barren wife twice."  

"We've been friends nearly all our lives," Lester noted. "And I never would have imagined you could be so cold."  

"Don't judge me so harshly," Martin countered. "I realized how foolish and wrong I was being and I paid their amount. Rebecca is alive, safe and nearly whole back here at home. I ask that I not be made to pay for my mistake in society as well. That is why I need your discretion and your silence.... And the discretion and silence of your wives."  

"My wife has a mind of her own, I'm afraid," Horace countered.  

"I would be willing to pay if it will help her hold her tongue," Martin assured him.  

Rebecca had heard enough. She squared her shoulders and strode into the office as if she belonged there—and she did. She was Martin's wife and the lady of the estate, it was time she acted like it.  

The men were quite obviously caught off-guard as she entered. Martin was quick to recover. "Rebecca, darling," he began as he swooped toward her. "Is there something wrong?"

Rebecca deftly stepped out of his reach and turned her attention to his guests. "Will you both excuse us, please? My husband and I have things to discuss."  

Horace and Lester seemed more than happy to  obey her. Horace paused at her side. "I am truly happy to see that you are okay, Rebecca. Sara and I have been very worried about you."  

Rebecca offered a thankful smile. "I appreciate your worry."  

Lester tenderly took her elbow. "Marie wants to come visit you as soon as you're feeling up to the company."  

"Tell her we can do lunch here tomorrow if she'd like," Rebecca replied. "Horace, if Sara would like to come, she is welcome as well."  

"Rebecca, I'm not certain you're ready for visitors just yet. Surely you need rest...." Martin countered.  

Rebecca felt her spine stiffen. "I believe I know what I need better than you do, 

dear husband .“

As Martin's mustache twitched and his face reddened, Horace and Lester quickly made their escapes. "Rebecca, 

darling , you should be in bed. That medicine must be affecting your mood.“

Rebecca walked to the chair across the desk from her husband and sat down upon it. "Or perhaps it is the sight of you this morning that is affecting my mood."  

Martin's mouth worked up and down several times but no sound emerged. Rebecca tipped her head. "Now that I have your silence, allow me to speak. I have spent nearly a decade doing every thing that I could to make 

you happy. I have followed every rule and guideline you have given me. I have been more slave than wife and that ends now.“

When it became clear that Martin's ability to speak was still lost somewhere, Rebecca cleared her throat and continued. She drew on every ounce of strength she had, as well as her anger, to hold back all her hurt and tears.  

"I used to think you were a good man. I made excuses for every questionable act you committed. I told myself that you were right when you told me that contacting my family would be an insult toward you since you bought and 

rescued me from that situation. I have felt so much shame and worthlessness in my heart each and every time I failed to get with child after you would come and grunt on top of me for several moments before leaving me alone once again…“

Martin suddenly found his voice. "You will not insult me that way! I have been a good husband to you!" he exclaimed, slamming his hands loudly on the desk and leaning over it, clearly attempting to intimidate her.  

Rebecca smiled. "You are not a scary man, Martin, so please don't try. I have spent some time with very scary men. I watched an innocent man be shot in cold blood. I had a man saw my finger from my hand with a smile on his face. 

You do not frighten me.“

The air seemed to go from his sails. He slumped down in his chair, his mustache drooped and his expression became resigned. "I will not apologize to you. I pulled you from the slums and gave you a good life here. All I asked from you was children and you could not even give me those. Why on earth would I pay good money for a barren wife twice without giving it some serious thought?"

That stung. Rebecca couldn't completely hide the pain from those words and she knew that Martin would see her wince. Brantley's rugged face came into her mind and she heard his words to her.  

Sitting up straighter, Rebecca met and held Martin's gaze. "I am a woman, not a goddamn broodmare."  

"You will watch your language. No wife of mine will speak that way."  

Rebecca laughed. "I hardly think you are in any position to tell me what I can and cannot say. Besides, I'm not a high class débutante, dear husband. I'm just a poor, uneducated girl from the slums."

"What is the point of this conversation? Are you here for some particular reason or simply to have a war with words and throw your tantrum."  

Rebecca longed to grab the decanter full of whiskey off the desk and bash it atop Martin's pompous head. Instead she folded her hands on her lap and managed a carefully designed and practiced smile—which she'd perfected over her years as Martins' wife. "You were offering to pay your friends and their wives for their silence. You don't want society knowing that you allowed your wife to be mutilated because of your own greed. I find that quite fascinating."  

Martin swallowed hard. "Do you?"

"I do. It makes me wonder, however, how much my own silence would be worth to you."  

Martin tugged at his collar and shuffled a stack of papers. "And just what do you want from me?"  

Rebecca reached her good hand across the desk and patted his hand as she stood up. "Don't worry, dear husband, I won't ask for anything just now. The day will come, however, when I'll want my payment and you'd do well to give me what I want. You are not the only person in this marriage who can be a cold-hearted monster."  

With that, Rebecca left the room, leaving her husband looking quite pale and shaken behind his desk. She paused alone in the hall and leaned against the door to gather her wits.  

Her broken heart ached terribly within her chest. Brantley...... Martin had asked what she wanted and the answer was Brantley. But that could never be. Her Brantley was more than likely dead and, even if he were alive, they could never have a life together. Not as long as Hoff and the gang hung over his head.  

Life was remarkably unfair.  

Self-pity, however, was not going to get her anywhere. Squaring her shoulders and blinking away her tears, Rebecca decided to find Tilly and get started learning all she could so she could start her new life as soon as possible.

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

“Whoever did this to you, wanted you dead,” Doctor Murphy stated as he finished wrapping a fresh bandage tight around Brantley’s busted ribs.

Brantley grunted in pain as he adjusted himself upon the bed in the doctor's spare room. "I reckon they forgot I'm too ornery to die."  

Doctor Murphy snorted as he cleaned his hands in the basin. "Too ornery or too dumb? How does a man with broken ribs, severe lacerations, a broken nose and severe head trauma not only live, but manage to drag his own bleeding, busted ass to a doctor?"

Brantley's gaze went to the window and the darkness looking back at him. "A man who isn't quite ready to be dead."  

"You got revenge in mind?" Doctor Murphy questioned as a thick white brow rose.  

Brantley laughed, though it was weak given the shape of his ribcage. "Depends. You a lawman or one of those anti-vigilante folks?"

Doctor Murphy offered a smile, his wrinkled cheeks curving. "Nope. Sure ain't. Just wanted to know because if it's revenge you have in mind, you'll need a good month or so before your ribs are in any shape to be doing much riding."

A growl left Brantley's throat. A month? What the hell was he supposed to do here for a month? He didn't do cooped up well.  

"Hopefully you'll be a decent patient and not take your ailments out on an innocent doctor. Now I've done what you've said and haven't told a soul you're here, other than my wife, but are you sure you don't want to talk to the town sheriff?"  

Brantley shook his head. He wasn't quite sure what his plans were but he knew that a town sheriff wouldn't hold any power over Hoff and the gang. If he decided to go to the law, which was a damn big 

if , he’d have to go a bit higher than some town hick with a tin star pinned to his vest.

Doctor Murphy sighed. "Alright then. I'll go see if Margaret has some supper ready for you and send it up. Get some rest, stranger. That's the only way you'll heal."  

Brantley found himself alone and was thankful for it. His body hurt—hell there wasn't an inch of him that wasn't bruised or cut or busted. Hoff and the men had done one hell of a number on him. He'd been dragged for miles behind that horse and then Hoff had simply untied him and left him for dead in the middle of nowhere.  

Brantley should have died. He had no real idea how he'd lived. Sheer stubbornness had had him somehow finding his feet and stumbling along with no real sense of direction or purpose.  

He only knew he had to live. He had to live and he had to rid the earth of Hoff and the gang. That was the only way Rebecca, and women like her, would ever be truly safe.  

His reasons for wanting Hoff dead weren't entirely charitable—he had a few selfish ones as well, including the swollen face and broken ribs he was sporting. Hoff had been the closest thing to family that Brantley'd had left in the world and the man had 

killed him without so much as batting an eye.

Two could play that game.  

But how? Hunt the men down one by one and take them out himself? Then what? Brantley was a wanted man. Even if he got rid of Hoff and the others, the law would still want his head. He would have no real future—no chance at a life with Rebecca.  

Was that what he wanted? Or was there a way to somehow get rid of the gang, clear his own name and have the life he wanted with the woman he loved?  

Would she even want to be with him now that she was home in her mansion with her wealthy surroundings?  

Brantley sighed. Yes, she would. Rebecca was not a woman wooed by riches. She was a real woman or character and she had a strong, pioneering spirit that longed to be free from the life her mother had sold her into.  

Brantley could only hope that she would find a way to make her life what she wanted it to be. Brantley knew that he'd rid Hoff and the others from the world. He knew that she would never again be threatened by those bastards. But he had no real plan or way of knowing if he'd ever again be at her side—so he hoped she'd find that happiness she'd admitted to longing for.  

Damn, he wanted that for her so bad.  

Footsteps sounded on the staircase and Brantley recognized them as being Margaret's. The doctor's wife was a sweet, old lady with a plump figure, a heart of gold and a real talent in the kitchen.  

His stomach rumbled in anticipation for whatever she'd be serving him. He would have to learn to be patient and bide his time. At least the month of healing would give him plenty of time to think, to plan, and to eat the hell out of some good home cooking just like his mama used to make so long ago.  

---

Brantley stepped out onto the darkening porch of the doctor’s house and breathed in his first real taste of fresh air in a month. He’d damn near went brain-addled staying cooped up that long but he hadn’t wanted to risk anyone, including the town sheriff, recognizing him and causing trouble.

The last month had given Brantley plenty of time to think and plan. The plan was simple but it was risky and, even if everything went smoothly, it would take quite a while to accomplish.  

He walked to the small corral and barn behind the doctor's home. The last month had also made him two new friends. Doctor Murphy and Margaret had agreed to outfit Brantley with a gun, knife, ammunition, some essentials for living on horseback and even a horse. The agreement was that as soon as Brantley was able, he'd send them payment for both the medical treatment he'd been given and all the supplies, tack and horse.  

Brantley wasn't certain he'd keep his end of the bargain. Hell, he'd stolen plenty of things in his life. Then again, Doctor Murphy had saved his life and kept him hidden while Margaret had caused his middle to get a bit softer with all that home cooking.....Brantley supposed he owed them.  

It took several minutes longer than usual to saddle the horse. His body was mostly healed but soreness and stiffness still accompanied most of his movements.  

Heading out into the night with his meager supplies, Brantley pointed his horse toward where he'd heard the U.S. Marshall should be this time of month. His plan was to turn himself in to the man and then make a deal to hunt down each and every gang member to earn his own freedom and a clean slate.  

It went against the outlaw code to be a turncoat, but hell, Brantley didn't owe any loyalty to those bastards. This was the only way he could have any hope at all for a future with Rebecca and Brantley was going to take it.

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Rebecca stared at the darkening horizon and didn’t bother to swipe at the hot tears pouring down her cheeks. Her hands were occupied covering her stomach and the life she had just realized was growing inside her womb.

A thousand raging emotions ripped at her heart and cluttered her swirling mind. She was not barren after all. A life had been created within her... and she knew who had helped create that life.  

Brantley. Her Brantley. The man she had thought of every single moment of the last month. A man who was gone and would never be back to see their child. Leaving Rebecca to wonder.... What would she do?

True, she had learned many skills over the last months and had made many friends on the ranch. She had even grown closer to Horace, Lester, Marie, and Sara—all four of which had grown more and more distant from Martin. Her plan had been to learn what she could and then leave the ranch..... but now she had a child to think of.  

A divorced mother to a bastard child would not receive much help, respect or sympathy from most.   

And her family had yet to return any word to her. She had sent them a letter, hoping that someone would recognize the names of her mother and brothers and get them the missive. It hurt her to know that her family might not want to speak to her, though she had in essence turned her back on them since marrying Martin.... They may have decided to return the favor, or were they dead?  

The slum was a dangerous place... could something have happened to her family and she hadn't even known?

Rebecca's tears fell harder. She was lost. What was she going to do? How would she care for a child? What would happen when Martin discovered she was carrying another man's babe? And he would know it was another man's. Rebecca had not allowed Martin into her bed, nor had she gone to his, since returning from her captivity.  

She remembered his indignation and anger when she'd refused him. Those had morphed into disbelief when she had informed him that if he had 

needs that needed met, he should go visit one of his many mistresses because she would no longer be seeing to him.

Rebecca had to gather her wits. She had to come up with a plan. Brantley had told her to make her life. Make it what she wanted it to be. This ranch would provide money and security for her and her child. Her child could receive a good education, learn the workings of a ranch and business and have a built in family with the workers that called the place home.  

As Rebecca stood there, staring off into the distance and contemplating her choices, a sudden thought occurred to her. She had something to hold over Martin's head. Perhaps there was a way she could ensure the future of her child and free herself from her husband at the same time.  

She nibbled at her lip. It was certainly worth a try. She had a plan to make and actions to take.  

---

"Thank you for coming," Rebecca greeted as Horace and Lester aided there wives in stepping off their buggies.

"Of course," Sara replied, pulling her traveling bonnet from her head. "You deserve what you're asking Martin for and we're here to see that he understands that."  

Rebecca bit her lip as she turned her attention to the men. "Are you both certain you want to do this? Martin is your friend."  

"Yes," Lester agreed. "I have known the man nearly my entire life and always considered him to be one of my best friends. Then I saw a side of him that disgusted me and things changed."  

Horace nodded. "Agreed."  

Marie looped her arm through Rebecca's. "Come on now, let's go speak to Martin."  

Rebecca led the four of them into the house and up the stairs to the doorway that led to Martin's study. "Wait out here for me," she urged. "I'll speak to him alone first."  

Marie glanced toward the door. "Are you certain he won't get violent?"  

Rebecca nearly laughed. She shook her head and pushed a tendril of hair from her eyes, fully aware of the gazes that strayed to her four-fingered hand which was healing but still red and tender. "I'm not afraid of Martin."  

Rebecca stepped into Martin's study, not bothering to knock. He was clearly started by her sudden appearance as he leapt to his feet wide-eyed. "Rebecca?"  

"Yes, Martin, that has been my name for as long as I can remember."  

Martin tugged at his pressed collar and tsked. "There's no need for such an attitude, dear. Clearly, the last weeks have not eased your temper with me."  

Rebecca swallowed the scathing remark that first leaped into her throat. She walked to Martin's desk and took a seat in the guest chair. "Have a seat, husband. We need to have a chat."  

"A chat?" Martin frowned and quickly went about pouring himself a glass of scotch. Rebecca did not miss the way his hands shook. "What should we chat about?" he questioned, taking his seat once again.  

With a clearing of her throat, Rebecca began."You asked me once, shortly after I returned, what it would take to buy my silence the way you attempted to buy the silence of your friends."  

Martin's gaze narrowed. "And have you come up with a price? I'm assuming your sudden presence in my office means that you have."  

"I have." Rebecca folded her hands in her lap. "You will grant me a divorce. I have already spoken with an attorney. In the divorce, I will be given this ranch and all financial assets pertaining to this ranch. I will also receive one-quarter of your seperate financial assets in the bank and you will gift me one-third of your stocks in both the cattle and oil industries."  

Martin's eyes nearly bulged from his head. He downed his scotch quickly and stifled uncomfortable laughter. "And why on earth would I do all that?"  

Rebecca did not falter—she couldn't afford to. "Because if you do not give me what I'm asking for, I will speak out, Martin. I will speak loudly and to everyone. Your  name will be ruined. Your reputation will be ruined. You will be known as the man who allowed his wife to be, not only held by outlaws, but brutalized, simply to save himself what, at best, amounts to his pocket change."  

"And that should be enough for me to give up my ranch and my money? What have you done to earn any bit of my belongings?"  

"I have put up with your judgments, your comments, your controlling ways for all these years. I gave up any contact with the only family I had. I tried and I tried to be a good wife to you and all that was ever given back to me was reminders of my failures."  

Martin clicked his tongue. "It is not my fault that your womb is broken. Perhaps I will grant you your divorce and throw you out with nothing so that I may find me a wife who will give me the son I long for."  

Rebecca felt the sting and knew what she had to do. She hated using the life growing inside her as a weapon, but, she had to do what was required to ensure her child would have a stable and secure life."  

"It is not my womb that is broken, dearest husband, but your 

equipment that has failed you.“

Martin's face reddened. "You dare say such a thing to me?"

"There is a life growing inside me, Martin, and we both know that 

you did not put it there. You were quite unable to put anything there.“

The redness that had been coloring Martin's face, quickly disappeared. He was quite pale as he blinked several times. "You're with child?"

"Yes." She sent up a silent wish that Brantley, wherever he was in the afterlife, would forgive her. "While you sat here with your friends and hoped your barren wife would simply die and rid  you of your burden, I was not only physically mutilated but I was raped as well and a child was placed in my womb. If you do not give me what I want, I will make sure the world knows, Martin. They will no about your lack of action, your hope that I would die, and they will know that you, Martin Smallwood, are incapable of producing children. They will finally know that it was not 

me that was the problem.“

Rebecca saw it then. The realization dawning in Martin's eyes. He knew that she had leverage. She finally had a hand to play and she hoped like hell he would believe she was brave enough to play it.  

Martin poured himself yet another glass of scotch and took a long swallow. "It will be my word against yours, Rebecca. A poor, un-educated whore from the slum versus one of the most influential men in society."  

Rebecca's temper flared. He called her a whore? Martin, the man who had had countless mistresses and affairs had the nerve to call her a whore? Before she could speak, the door opened once again.  

"That is where you are wrong, Martin.

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Rebecca stared at the darkening horizon and didn’t bother to swipe at the hot tears pouring down her cheeks. Her hands were occupied covering her stomach and the life she had just realized was growing inside her womb.

A thousand raging emotions ripped at her heart and cluttered her swirling mind. She was not barren after all. A life had been created within her... and she knew who had helped create that life.  

Brantley. Her Brantley. The man she had thought of every single moment of the last month. A man who was gone and would never be back to see their child. Leaving Rebecca to wonder.... What would she do?

True, she had learned many skills over the last months and had made many friends on the ranch. She had even grown closer to Horace, Lester, Marie, and Sara—all four of which had grown more and more distant from Martin. Her plan had been to learn what she could and then leave the ranch..... but now she had a child to think of.  

A divorced mother to a bastard child would not receive much help, respect or sympathy from most.   

And her family had yet to return any word to her. She had sent them a letter, hoping that someone would recognize the names of her mother and brothers and get them the missive. It hurt her to know that her family might not want to speak to her, though she had in essence turned her back on them since marrying Martin.... They may have decided to return the favor, or were they dead?  

The slum was a dangerous place... could something have happened to her family and she hadn't even known?

Rebecca's tears fell harder. She was lost. What was she going to do? How would she care for a child? What would happen when Martin discovered she was carrying another man's babe? And he would know it was another man's. Rebecca had not allowed Martin into her bed, nor had she gone to his, since returning from her captivity.  

She remembered his indignation and anger when she'd refused him. Those had morphed into disbelief when she had informed him that if he had 

needs that needed met, he should go visit one of his many mistresses because she would no longer be seeing to him.

Rebecca had to gather her wits. She had to come up with a plan. Brantley had told her to make her life. Make it what she wanted it to be. This ranch would provide money and security for her and her child. Her child could receive a good education, learn the workings of a ranch and business and have a built in family with the workers that called the place home.  

As Rebecca stood there, staring off into the distance and contemplating her choices, a sudden thought occurred to her. She had something to hold over Martin's head. Perhaps there was a way she could ensure the future of her child and free herself from her husband at the same time.  

She nibbled at her lip. It was certainly worth a try. She had a plan to make and actions to take.  

---

"Thank you for coming," Rebecca greeted as Horace and Lester aided there wives in stepping off their buggies.

"Of course," Sara replied, pulling her traveling bonnet from her head. "You deserve what you're asking Martin for and we're here to see that he understands that."  

Rebecca bit her lip as she turned her attention to the men. "Are you both certain you want to do this? Martin is your friend."  

"Yes," Lester agreed. "I have known the man nearly my entire life and always considered him to be one of my best friends. Then I saw a side of him that disgusted me and things changed."  

Horace nodded. "Agreed."  

Marie looped her arm through Rebecca's. "Come on now, let's go speak to Martin."  

Rebecca led the four of them into the house and up the stairs to the doorway that led to Martin's study. "Wait out here for me," she urged. "I'll speak to him alone first."  

Marie glanced toward the door. "Are you certain he won't get violent?"  

Rebecca nearly laughed. She shook her head and pushed a tendril of hair from her eyes, fully aware of the gazes that strayed to her four-fingered hand which was healing but still red and tender. "I'm not afraid of Martin."  

Rebecca stepped into Martin's study, not bothering to knock. He was clearly started by her sudden appearance as he leapt to his feet wide-eyed. "Rebecca?"  

"Yes, Martin, that has been my name for as long as I can remember."  

Martin tugged at his pressed collar and tsked. "There's no need for such an attitude, dear. Clearly, the last weeks have not eased your temper with me."  

Rebecca swallowed the scathing remark that first leaped into her throat. She walked to Martin's desk and took a seat in the guest chair. "Have a seat, husband. We need to have a chat."  

"A chat?" Martin frowned and quickly went about pouring himself a glass of scotch. Rebecca did not miss the way his hands shook. "What should we chat about?" he questioned, taking his seat once again.  

With a clearing of her throat, Rebecca began."You asked me once, shortly after I returned, what it would take to buy my silence the way you attempted to buy the silence of your friends."  

Martin's gaze narrowed. "And have you come up with a price? I'm assuming your sudden presence in my office means that you have."  

"I have." Rebecca folded her hands in her lap. "You will grant me a divorce. I have already spoken with an attorney. In the divorce, I will be given this ranch and all financial assets pertaining to this ranch. I will also receive one-quarter of your seperate financial assets in the bank and you will gift me one-third of your stocks in both the cattle and oil industries."  

Martin's eyes nearly bulged from his head. He downed his scotch quickly and stifled uncomfortable laughter. "And why on earth would I do all that?"  

Rebecca did not falter—she couldn't afford to. "Because if you do not give me what I'm asking for, I will speak out, Martin. I will speak loudly and to everyone. Your  name will be ruined. Your reputation will be ruined. You will be known as the man who allowed his wife to be, not only held by outlaws, but brutalized, simply to save himself what, at best, amounts to his pocket change."  

"And that should be enough for me to give up my ranch and my money? What have you done to earn any bit of my belongings?"  

"I have put up with your judgments, your comments, your controlling ways for all these years. I gave up any contact with the only family I had. I tried and I tried to be a good wife to you and all that was ever given back to me was reminders of my failures."  

Martin clicked his tongue. "It is not my fault that your womb is broken. Perhaps I will grant you your divorce and throw you out with nothing so that I may find me a wife who will give me the son I long for."  

Rebecca felt the sting and knew what she had to do. She hated using the life growing inside her as a weapon, but, she had to do what was required to ensure her child would have a stable and secure life."  

"It is not my womb that is broken, dearest husband, but your 

equipment that has failed you.“

Martin's face reddened. "You dare say such a thing to me?"

"There is a life growing inside me, Martin, and we both know that 

you did not put it there. You were quite unable to put anything there.“

The redness that had been coloring Martin's face, quickly disappeared. He was quite pale as he blinked several times. "You're with child?"

"Yes." She sent up a silent wish that Brantley, wherever he was in the afterlife, would forgive her. "While you sat here with your friends and hoped your barren wife would simply die and rid  you of your burden, I was not only physically mutilated but I was raped as well and a child was placed in my womb. If you do not give me what I want, I will make sure the world knows, Martin. They will no about your lack of action, your hope that I would die, and they will know that you, Martin Smallwood, are incapable of producing children. They will finally know that it was not 

me that was the problem.“

Rebecca saw it then. The realization dawning in Martin's eyes. He knew that she had leverage. She finally had a hand to play and she hoped like hell he would believe she was brave enough to play it.  

Martin poured himself yet another glass of scotch and took a long swallow. "It will be my word against yours, Rebecca. A poor, un-educated whore from the slum versus one of the most influential men in society."  

Rebecca's temper flared. He called her a whore? Martin, the man who had had countless mistresses and affairs had the nerve to call her a whore? Before she could speak, the door opened once again.  

"That is where you are wrong, Martin."

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

To say he was uncomfortable would have been an understatement. Brantley had spent most of his childhood, and all of his adult life, avoiding members of law enforcement. Now, here he was standing on the boardwalk outside the US Marshall’s office and preparing to knock on the door.

Raising his hand to rap his knuckle against the scarred wood, Brantley was stopped when a throat cleared behind him. "What can I do for you, sir?"

Brantley turned and took in the sight of the man standing on the dirt road behind him. The star on his vest told Brantley that it was the very man he'd been coming to see—the gun hanging low on the man's hip in a well worn holster, told Brantley this particular Marshall had earned his job and knew how to do it well.  

"I was hoping to speak to you, Marshall."  

Dark eyes, lined from years of riding sun-brightened ranges, narrowed as they studied Brantley, obviously taking in every detail just as Brantley had done to him. "Well let's head on in then and we can talk."  

Brantley opened the door and allowed the Marshall to enter ahead of him before stepping in behind him. The office was small but tidy. There was a room off the back full of barred cells where an overweight deputy currently sat in an overloaded chair keeping an eye on a sleeping man on a cell cot.  

The Marshall pulled off his hat and tossed it on a hook by the door before running his hand over his thick black mustache. "So, what is it that brings you in here?"

Apprehension swirled in Brantley's gut but he damn sure wasn't going to let it show. He had no choice but to do this. It was the 

only way to ensure Rebecca’s safety, and possibly, have a future that included her.

Brantley walked to the desk and sat down causing the Marshall to follow suit. "I've come to make a deal, Marshall."  

An eyebrow quirked up at the news. "A deal? What kind of deal would that be?"

Pulling his own hat off, Brantley ran his hand through his shaggy dark hair and sat his hat on his lap. "My name is Brantley Mitchell. You might have heard of me, I used to run with a man named Hoff and his gang."  

"Yeah, I've heard of you. Got a poster with your name on it and a five thousand dollar reward." Brantley nearly scoffed. Five thousand? The Marshall leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "So why are you here, Brantley? Turning yourself in?"

"Not quite," Brantley assured the man, mirroring his posture. "I'm not running with those men anymore, Marshall. I've seen the error of my ways and I want to make things right."  

The Marshall chuckled. "According to the U.S. Government, the way you can make it right would be to go swinging at the gallows, after a fair trial of course."  

Brantley nodded, "Sure, you could do that. You could arrest me, lock me up and send me swinging. But wouldn't you rather have Hoff? Gilliam? Any of the twelve men in that gang? Hell, all of them?" Brantley knew that in order to ensure Rebecca's safety, he needed to do away with the 

entire gang, not just the six he’d been dealing with at the cabin.

For the first time, the Marshall seemed truly interested. He leaned forward and twisted the corner of his mustache. "You're offering to give up men you've rode with for years?"  

"I am. Hell, I'm willing to do more than give them up. I'm willing to help you take them down."  

The Marshall tapped his desk several times. "Hoff alone is worth ten-thousand dollars. The other gang members go anywhere from two-thousand to eight-thousand. Are you gonna be wanting that money?"

Brantley frowned. Money? What good would money do him if he hanged? "No, I don't want money."  

"Really?" The Marshall frowned as he leaned back once again. "And what exactly will you be wanting?"

Brantley shrugged and plopped his hat back on his head. "A clean slate, sir. That's all I want."  

"You're not a good man, Brantley Mitchell, but you also aren't as bad a man as some of those others. I'm sure you have your reasons, and I'm sure gonna want to hear them, but since I'm not able to make the kind of deal you're asking for, I can't see you wasting your breath just now." The Marshall stood up and motioned for the door. "Let's go uptown and have a talk with Judge Wilson. He's a federal judge and he'll be the one that can say yes or no to giving your slate a good washing."  

Brantley nodded and followed the Marshall back into the sun and the bustle of the midday. Getting past the Marshall and having a chance to see the judge was a good thing, or at least he hoped it was.  

Both men were silent as they walked. Brantley hadn't ever been to this particular city because it was a bit too crowded for his liking. Soon the wooden, ramshackle buildings gave way to well-built arcetectual storefronts and building made of brick and stones. Horse's hooves echoed off the buildings lining either side of the street as the dirt roads became cobblestones.  

Stores of every kind and size, business offering services from tailoring, to hair cuts, to dentistry, lined the streets as they meandered their way through crowds of townsfolk all dressed in their Sunday best even though it was only Wednesday. Brantley felt like a fish out of water with his trail stained clothes and unshaven face.  

Brantley followed the Marshal down a sidewalk through a wide courtyard full of green grass and led to a giant stone building with grand steps and pillars. The building was labeled 'Courthouse'.  

Once inside the duo climbed two sets of stairs before stopping in front of polished mahogany double doors. The Marshall knocked twice and a booming authoritative voice ushered them in.  

Brantley stepped inside the stately office and took in the sight of Judge Wilson. He appeared to be nearing sixty years old but it was clear the man had known hard work in his life and his body was still strong. Slate gray eyes matched the hair atop his head and the mustache on his face.  

He stepped around his desk and held out a large hand. "Good afternoon, Marshall," he greeted, shaking the lawman's hand. "Who have you brought with you?"

Brantley stepped forward. "Brantley Mitchell, sir."  

Judge Wilson frowned. "Do you know this man, Marshall?"

"No, sir, but I do know 

of him. He has a dead or alive bounty of five thousand dollars on his head and has a history of running with Hoff and his gang.“

At the mention of Hoff, recognition dawned in Judge Wilson's eyes. "I've heard that name. And you say you ran with the man?"

Brantley nodded. "Yes, sir."  

"So what brings you into my office today?" Judge Wilson asked. "Why aren't you currently locked up tight and secure at the Marshall's jail?"

"Brantley has a deal for us, Judge," the Marshall announced. "And it don't sound like too bad a deal."  

"Really?" Judge Wilson turned his gaze to Brantley. "And what kind of deal is it?"

"I want a pardon and a cleared name and in order to earn that, I'll give you Hoff and the eleven men that still run with him. I'll help hunt them down and get rid of them until the job is done."  

"Is that so?" A smile curved Judge Wilson's mustache. "But you yourself have a bounty of five-thousand dollars. What's to stop you from returning to a life of crime after I give you that?"

Brantley shrugged. "My word. I don't have anything more to offer you than that."  

Judge Wilson rubbed at his chin. "The word of a wanted man? Why don't we have a seat and you can explain to me what led you to a life of crime and what has you wanting out now."  

Brantley had no choice but to sit down beside the Marshall across the desk from Judge Wilson. "So tell me, Brantley. Tell me the story."  

Brantley shifted in the chair and cleared his throat. Sharing was not a talent of his. But he loved Rebecca and he'd do whatever it took to ensure she'd have a safe life without the threat of Hoff and his men.  

"I was a boy when I was orphaned. I was alone, lost, starving and would have died had Hoff not found me and took me under his wing. He saved my life and, to me as a child, I thought that meant he cared. He became the only family I had. Over the years I disagreed with a lot of what he did and chose not to take part in a good portion of it. But, like I said, he was the only family I had and I didn't think there was another way to live. Hell, after you get so deep in that life getting out isn't a choice. If you show weakness, you die, it's as simple as that.  

"Over the last few years Hoff has grown more and more ruthless and we've butted heads more and more. But a recent job he took part in, involving a kidnapped woman, was the final straw between us. She made it back home alive but only because I made it clear I wasn't on Hoff's team anymore. After that, he had the gang beat me, then drag me along behind a horse and leave me for dead. I'm not dead, as you can see, and I want to help get rid of those men forever. I don't want to see Rebecca, or any other woman, go through what they did again."  

Silence fell over the three men for a moment. Judge Wilson pulled a cigar from a drawer and struck a match to light it. After he'd taken several puffs, he smiled. "So love then? You fell in love and they hurt her and now you want revenge?"

Brantley couldn't see any point in lying. It was clear the Judge was an intelligent man. "Yes sir. And I want to make sure it doesn't happen again."  

The judge looked at the Marshall. "What are the crimes he's wanted for? Murder?"

"No sir," the Marshall replied. "Robbery, theft, assualt, horse theft....."  

Judge Wilson held up his hand to silence the Marshall. He rubbed at his chin and it was clear he was deep in thought. Brantley sat there feeling as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.  

After a long time of wondering whether he was gonna go hunting a gang, or swing from the gallows, Judge Wilson finally put down his cigar and folded his hands on the desk.  

"I believe you have yourself a deal, Brantley Mitchell. Twelve horrible men no longer terrorizing innocent citizens in exchange for one reformed man getting a new start in life is a risk i'm willing to take. However, I will warn you that you will be under close observation by members of law enforcement and if you step across that line, even a little, even years from now, we'll take you down."  

Brantley nodded. Hell, it had worked! He held out his hand. "I understand, Judge. You won't hear any bad of me, I can assure you of that."  

Judge Wilson shook his hand  firmly and then stood up. "Marshall, you can put a team together, deputize Brantley here so it's legal and you can go hunt down some wanted men."  

"Judge?" Brantley paused as he followed the Marshall toward the door. "These men are all dead or alive bounties, right?"  

It was clear that the Judge knew what Brantley was asking. He waved Brantley toward the window and Brantley looked outside to see the gallows upon a small hill with a wide green field and oak trees surrounding it. Brantley knew that on a hanging day that field would be full of families and onlookers picnicking and enjoying watching justice be served. 	

"Eleven of those men are yours to do with what you will," Judge Wilson assured him. "I just want the garbage cleaned from our country. However, there is one man I want to see hang here and that man is Hoff. You will take him alive, you will bring him here and I will send him to the hangman."  

Brantley tensed. "I want him dead, Judge."  

Judge Wilson nodded. "And he will be. But it will be because I've sent him to the hangman. If you don't follow the rules, that pardon won't be yours at the end of this. Understood?"

The two men stared  each other down. Brantley wanted to kill Hoff himself after what the man had done.... But killing Hoff would mean he was erasing any hope he had of a future with Rebecca.  

Taking a deep breath, Brantley relented and nodded in acceptance. "Sure. Either way he's dead."  

Judge Wilson patted him on the back. "That's right, boy. Now go get your job done and that pardon paperwork will be here ready for you when you return."

Author’s Note

Hey y’all!! I think I’ve finally figured out a way through my writer’s block with this story!! After this authors note, the next ‘chapter’ will actually begin part two of the story so i can skip a bit of the blah blah blah and get to the point i think the story needs to be at! So it will be one book but it will have two parts! I hope y’all are still interested in discovering what happens to Brantley and Rebecca after all this time! The first chapter of part two of this story will be posted within the next few days! And remember, part two will be included in this story, it won’t be a seperate book!

Love y’all!

NIcole

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

Six Months Later

Rebecca offered Horace a heartfelt thank you as he helped her down from the buckboard they’d ridden into town. Rebecca was so thankful that she had friends these days after spending so much time feeling completely alone on that massive ranch.

Martin, and that horrible marriage, were a thing of the past and had been for nearly half a year. He hadn't put up any fight at all against her demands—especially when he found that even his best of friends had turned on him.  

Rebecca was now the wealthiest woman in the territory with a massive ranch and stocks in growing industries. She was also quite overwhelmed. If it hadn't been for the ranch foreman who knew how to run things without any input from her and for her newfound friends in Horace, Lester, Marie and Sara, helping her make sense of her new financial gains, Rebecca would have made countless mistakes.  

"Lord, child, it's been so long since I've been to town," Tillie announced as Lester helped her from the wagon as well.  

Rebecca smiled at her friend. "You will 

always be welcome in town with me, Tillie.“ Martin had not allowed any of the colored help to come into town, except for Felix who had only been allowed to drive the cart, not enter any stores or establishments.

It was only one more reason Rebecca hated the man who had once been her husband. No one should be judged or hated simply based on the color of their skin. Tillie was a true godsend and had done nothing but treat Rebecca with kindness and compassion as she'd struggled through all these months of what was proving to be a rather difficult pregnancy.  

It seemed she was 

always tired and the child inside her seemed determined to see its mother lose whatever she took into her stomach. Thanks to Tillie’s knowledge, Rebecca had taken to drinking tea each morning, afternoon and night and it had greatly improved the state of her stomach.

"Oh look, Rebecca! We're here in time to see the train," Tillie cried with excitement.  "I've always wanted to watch all those folks get off the train and meet their loved ones. Would ya mind terribly if we spent a few moments at the station?"

Rebecca smiled. They really were in no hurry today. "Of course we can," she replied. "You don't mind, do you Horace?"  

"I don't mind at all," Horace agreed. "Would it be acceptable to you ladies if I stepped into the store while you see the train?"

Rebecca waved her hand. "Of course not. We will meet you back here when Tillie has had her fill of people watching."  

Rebecca followed after Tillie, waddling with every step she took down the boardwalk. She didn't miss the way some people sneered at her, the way some moved away to avoid being to near. She heard the whispers and felt the stares. She hadn't escaped her divorce without earning quite a reputation with all the snob-nosed folks in town.  

She was the scandalous divorcee, pregnant with a babe that did not belong to her husband and had no father to claim it. She was the woman who'd been kidnapped by ruffians and mutilated. Most would not shake her hand as if they feared her missing finger would somehow spread to them and cause their own appendages to begin to fall from their bodies.  

No, Rebecca was not popular. But she had people who truly cared about her for the first time since moving to this booming western city—or at least since losing Brantley.  

Thoughts of his dark green eyes and deep laughter caused that empty hole within Rebecca to deepen. She missed that man more with each passing day—with each and every kick of the babe they had made together growing in her belly.  

Quickly, Rebecca pushed those thoughts aside before the tears burning behind her eyes could fall. Brantley was dead—deep down she knew that. It had been more than half a year since she had last seen his face and surely, if he'd been alive and able, he would have found a way to contact her by now.  

Taking her attention from her melancholy thought, Rebecca focused her attention on Tillie and the excitement that the older woman was expressing at simply seeing passengers leaving a train.  

The short walk to the train station had Rebecca feeling fatigued so she found a bench in the shade and sat down upon it. Tillie sat beside her and exclaimed over all the fancily dressed men and women leaving the train.  

When a man in trail worn clothes stepped from the train, a young boy no more than three or four rushed forward from the crowd. "Daddy!" the boy exclaimed.  

The man tossed down his luggage and the boy leaped into his arms, to be spun around and around.  

Rebecca smiled at the bittersweet sight. Her child would never get to experience leaping into his or hers father's arms. She laid her hand on her ever-expanding stomach and thought about her own family.  

She still had not heard from them. Not one word. Rebecca was beginning to accept the fact that perhaps her mother had passed on and her brothers had left to make their own lives. It made her heart ache to know that she would never again see them—but it was an old ache, an ache that had been there since she'd left home at sixteen.  

Person after person left the passenger train. Rebecca would probably find the people watching a dull event if not for Tillie's excitement. She loved seeing her friend so happy after the woman had lived such a dull and boring life as Martin's servant.

Nearly all passengers had dismounted the car. Rebecca decided it was time to lift her heavy body from the bench. Being short and petite was certainly a bad thing when your middle expanded like a watermelon.  

She grunted with effort but froze mid-heave when she saw a man step down the train steps. There was something familiar about him.. something familiar about the set of his shoulders and the line of his jaw.  

He looked a lot like her late father.  

Then he turned and held out a hand to help the woman stepping down after him. It was clear the woman, probably in her fifties, had lived a hard life. Working too hard did that to a woman. But it was also clear that she was beautiful. Short and petite, dark hair pulled back from her face and wide brown eyes—just like her daughter's. Just like Rebecca's.  

"Rebecca, honey, are you alright?" Tillie questioned, her voice lit with concern as she fanned Rebecca's face. "You look pale as a snowflake."  

Rebecca's mouth worked up and down several times, however no words would form. "Should I send for the doc?" Tillie demanded. "Is it the babe?"

No matter how hard Rebecca tried, no words would come from her mouth. That was her mother and her brother John. It had been a long long time since she'd laid eyes on either one of them but she recognized them—her heart recognized them.

"I am going to find the doctor," Tillie insisted, standing up.  

Rebecca finally found her voice. "No..no, I don't need the doctor." She pointed a shaking hand at her mother and brother, who were busy collecting their luggage and either hadn't seen or hadn't recognized her as of yet.  

"What are you pointing at? What's wrong with you, child?"  

"That woman and that man... that's my brother and my mother."  

Tillie followed her gaze. "Are you certain?"

"I'm certain," Rebecca replied. She glanced around one more time. Only her brother John had gotten off the train with her mother. Where was Thomas?

"If that's your kin, girl, go get them! You've been waiting on word from them for months."  

Tillie's urging was the last nudge necessary to get Rebecca to rise from the bench. Her legs felt weak and shaky as she nervously made her way through the crowd. Would her family be glad to see her? They didn't know about her divorce or the child in her womb... what would her mama say?

She could not dwell on that. If Rebecca focused on her worries, she'd turn around, lift her skirts and run away without speaking a word to her mama or her brother.  

They had their backs to her as she approached and Rebecca wrung her hands as she cleared her throat to gain their attention. 	

"Excuse me?" she called, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper.  

John and Isabella turned quickly. Rebecca's eyes filled with tears as she looked into her mama's eyes. Eyes she hadn't been able to look into in over a decade. "Hi, mama."  

Isabel's brown eyes widened. "Rebecca?"

"It's me, mama."  

Without another second wasted, Isabelle threw her arms around Rebecca's neck and held her tight. "I'm so happy to see you!" she exclaimed. "After so long I never thought I'd see my baby girl again!"  

“I’m happy to see you too, mama. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

Isabelle pulled away and daubed at the tears falling from her eyes. "Oh darling, I've sent you so many letters in the last decade and you never answered any of them. I didn't want to waste time sending another once I got your letter. I just told John it was time to go and we made plans to get out here."

Rebecca turned her gaze to her brother. She could hardly believe this was the same skinny, malnourished, more hair than head boy she'd known when she had left home so long ago.  

"It's good to see you again, Becca," he said, though she noticed his voice was tight and his dark eyes didn't seem all that happy to see her.

Rebecca frowned and looked at her mother's heavily lined face. "Mama, where's Thomas? Why isn't he with you?"

Sadness filled Isabelle's brown eyes. "Your brother took sick and died shortly after you came out west. I sent you word, didn't you get it?"

Rebecca's frown deepened as she chewed on her lip. This was the second time her mama was mentioning sending her letters but Rebecca had never received a single letter from her family.  

Anger burned in her gut when she realized she had yet another sin to add to the list of horrendous things Martin had done. Clearly he had intercepted each and every letter her family had attempted to send to her since she had left home.  

"Mama, John, we have a lot to talk about. I need to let you know exactly what's been happening here the last ten years and I want to know how your lives have been."  

"Looks like it's been good to you. You're nice clothes and your servant and it looks like you're gonna have a baby."  

Rebecca didn't miss the anger in her brother's tone. Why was he so upset with her? She met his gaze and held it. "Looks can be deceiving." She turned her attention back to her mother. "Come on, let's get you both out to the ranch and we can really talk. I have a feeling the conversation will be a long one."

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

The ride to the ranch had been long, silent and awkward with Rebecca riding in a cart with her mama and Horace, while Tillie rode in a second cart with Johnathon. After asking several times and ensuring himself that Rebecca would be fine without his presence, Horace left the ranch, no doubt eager to share this latest news with his wife and friends.

Tillie rushed off to the kitchen once the reunited family reached the sitting room, claiming it was past time for her to start some supper—Rebecca knew her real motive was simply to give them privacy... truly she wished the other woman would have stayed. She could have used her friends presence.  

Isabelle was sitting in the armchair picking at her worm and tattered skirt, Johnathon was standing and looking practically hostile as he leaned against the dark gilded mantle. Rebecca adjusted herself on the sofa, laying her hand over her swollen stomach and feeling her babe move inside her as if it too sensed the tension.  

"You said we were gonna have a talk," Johnathon grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. "So talk."  

"Johnathon, stop being so rude to your sister."  

"I haven't seen that woman in over ten years," Johnathon growled. "She's not my damn sister anymore."  

Rebecca felt the sting deep in her chest. She would have gotten teary eyed if she did things like cry any longer—she had stopped crying long ago. It was clear that Isabelle was preparing to scold Johnathon so Rebecca cleared her throat, drawing her mothers attention to her.  

"I have a lot I must tell you, mama. But first, please, how have you been? Has life been easier for you?"

Johnathon shoved himself off the mantle with a snort. "Would that ease your conscious? She lost her daughter and then one of her sons. Do you think it's been easy?"  

Rebecca wanted to get angry and probably would have if she wasn't so tired. She pinched her nose between her fingers and took several breaths before meeting her brother's angry glare. "I was referring to the money, Johnathon. I didn't just leave home if you remember. I sacrificed a lot to make your lives easier."  

"Oh yeah." He opened his arms and held out his hands, indicating the wealth around them. "One hell of a sacrifice. Where is that good for nothing husband of yours?" Johnathon cracked his knuckles. "I'd like to have a few words with him."  

Rebecca frowned. Johnathon was angry at Martin? Why? She hadn't told either of them anything about her kidnapping, her husband's betrayals or the divorce. Why would Johnathon be angry with him?  

"Johnathon, please don't..." Isabelle whispered, rubbing at the tired circles around her eyes. "I wanted your sister to have a better life..."  

"And what about you, dammit?" Johnathon demanded. "Here she's sat with all this finery and more wealth than twenty people could spend in a lifetime and you've been working yourself into the grave with no help from the daughter who claimed to love you!"

Rebecca held up her hands. "What do you mean, no help? Martin paid three-thousand dollars for my hand in marriage. Mama shouldn't have had to work at all..."  

Another snort came from Johnathon as Isabelle sent him a sharp look. "Like I said, where is your husband? I'd like to talk to him."  

Rebecca felt dread settle in her gut. Surely Martin hadn't.... she let out a snort of her own. Of course the bastard had.  

She fixed her mama with a gaze that made it clear she expected an answer. "He didn't pay, did he?"  

Isabelle chewed at her lip a moment, making it clear where Rebecca had gotten that particular habit. "He paid...."  

"Yeah three hundred dollars. When I asked where the rest of the money was, he claimed we were just ignorant slum rats who misunderstood the deal he'd made for your hand."  

Rebecca shoved herself to her feet and began to pace the sitting room. Her entire life collapsed as her angry feet ate up the ground. Back and forth. Back and forth.  

The one thing that had given her any solace the last ten years of her life had been knowing that she had saved her mother and her brothers from a life of poverty in the slums—but she hadn't. She had turned her back on her family, become Martin's goddamn broodmare, sacrificed every bit of her own self-worth and happiness, and for what?

"You...You didn't know?" For the first time there was something other than hostility in Johnathon's voice.  

"Of course I didn't," Rebecca exclaimed, whirling around to face him as she threw her hands in the air. "I haven't had the life you think I've had and the only thing that has made any of it bearable was knowing my family was taken care of..." Rebecca suddenly felt exhausted. Too exhausted to stand. She fell back onto the sofa. "I guess Martin got the last laugh after all."  

Isabelle, reached out and took her daughter's hand. Rebecca gazed down at that work hardened, calloused and heavily lined hand resting against the soft, pale skin of her own. "Darling, where is Martin?"

She met her mama's gaze, though she wasn't sure how with the amount of shame she felt eating her gut. "He's gone, mama."  

Isabelle's eyes widened a fraction. "Did he die?"

Rebecca laid her left hand on top of her mama's. "No, he's not dead."  

Glancing down, Isabelle's eyes widened. "Your hand...."  

Rebecca winced and pulled her hand away. She'd forgotten about her mangled appearance—it was clear that it was the first her mother was noticing.  

Johnathon noticed too. He strode forward, dropped to his knee and took her hand roughly. His brows knitted together as his eyes narrowed. "Did 

he do this to you? I’ll kill that son of a bitch….“

Rebecca pulled her hand from him and shook her head as memories flooded back. The fear, the blood, the pain....Brantley's tormented face as he'd been forced to watch...

"Not directly."  

"What do you mean, '

not directly ’?“ Johnathon demanded. “I think it’s time to get to telling us whatever you need to be telling us.”

Rebecca nodded. "For nearly a decade, I was Martin's faithful wife. Our marriage was not one of love or affection but I was fond of him—mostly because of what he'd done for my family. Anytime I mentioned you, he made me feel ashamed and ungrateful, as if I was spitting in the face of all he'd done for me. I never received any letters from you—Martin must have intercepted them. I was a constant disappointment to my husband. He married me simply to produce children, however, for that entire time I seemed unable to give him what he wanted. He ridiculed me, talked down to me and made sure everyone knew what a worthless wife he had gotten himself...."  

Johnathon's gaze dropped to her pregnant belly. "But....ain't that a youngin?"

Sucking in a deep breath to combat the pain, Rebecca nodded. "I was kidnapped one night after my drive, Felix, was shot dead in cold blood. I was taken by a horrible group of men led by the most evil, vile man I'd ever met...They took me to a small shack of a cabin and left me there bound and blindfolded.  

"There was a man, one who hadn't been involved in the kidnapping, he was recovering from an injury and they left him in charge of making sure I didn't escape while they left to give Martin their demands for my release."  

"Who was the man, sweetheart?" Isabelle questioned gently. "Is he the one who did that to your hand?"

Rebecca smiled, though it was a bittersweet smile. Brantley's green eyes, his gentle touch, his laughter floated through her memory. "No...No, Brantley would never hurt me. I fell in love with him in that shack, mama. He was so different from what i'd known for so long. He was real. He was genuine. He wanted to know me—he was interested in 

me.“

Her mother’s knowing gaze landed on her belly. “And that babe is his?”

Rebecca felt no shame. "Yes." She held her head high. "Yes, this babe is Brantley's. We were going to run away together.. but the gang returned. Martin had not paid them. He wanted to pay less then they were asking. He didn't care if I lived or died—that's not true, he was hoping I would die. He was hoping to be rid of his useless wife. But Hoff, the leader of the gang, wasn't going to give up that easily."  

Rebecca swallowed hard. Damn, why didn't the pain ever seem to fade? "Brantley tried to protect me but they were like a pack of rabid wolves. After they beat Brantley to a bloody pulp, they held him and made him watch as Hoff sawed my finger from my hand. I lost consciousness and when I woke, I was alone with Brantley once again, though this time there were armed guards on the cliff and Brantley held no weapons—he was a prisoner too."  

Rebecca shifted upon the sofa. "When the gang returned, Martin had paid. Hoff forced Brantley to give me back to my 

dear husband who had the nerve to still attempt to talk down the price due to the damage they’d done to my hand. Never have I felt such pain as I felt riding away from Brantley… But I had found strength during my time with him. He had made me see something inside myself that I hadn’t realized was there. I was no longer content being Martin’s wife. With the help of several friends, and the babe I later realized was growing inside me, I convinced Martin to grant me the divorce I wanted leaving me the wealthiest woman and largest female property holder in the territory…If only those things bought happiness.“

Johnathon was quiet. Isabelle was silent. The clock ticked on the mantle. Finally Johnathon cleared his throat. "And where is the father now? Where is Brantley?"

There they were... Tears....After all these months, Rebecca hadn't thought she had any left. She gulped in a large breath of air and clenched her fists. "Dead... He died because of me." 

A/N: Shall we check on our long lost outlaw? He’s been gone awhile… I’m curious to see how he’s doing….

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

Rebecca. That name was enough to provide Brantley with a bit of warmth as he rode along on the rocky terrain in the frigid winter air. It had been a long time—such a long time—since he’d seen her face but it wasn’t hard to pull it up in her mind. That soft dark hair, those doe brown eyes, that tiny body that made him want to cradle her close and protect her with all he had.

That was why he was on this trail with US Marshall Graves and two deputies beside him. That was why he'd been riding hard and taking out members of his own gang one by one. He hadn't fooled with arresting any of them.  

Blood lust was what he had and blood lust was what he wanted to satisfy. There were only three men left.  

Gilliam, Samson... and Hoff.  

And finally, Brantley had them cornered. He knew where they were and he knew they were together and he knew they were going to die.

The Marshall held up his hand, urging the men to stop. Brantley pulled up the reins on his mare and growled. "Why are we stopping?"

"We can't just ride in there with guns blazing, Brantley. The judge wants Hoff alive, remember?"

Shit. No, he hadn't remembered. He had conveniently forgotten that detail.  

"If you want any hope of a future with that woman of yours, you'll start to remember," the Marshall warned, clearly reading Brantley's face. That's what happened when you rode with men for months and months. You got to know each other. 	

Brantley rubbed roughly at his face. He'd never been a team player—but for Rebecca he would do this. He would figure out a way to take Hoff alive and end the threat against Rebecca for good. That would earn him a pardon and a chance at that future he'd envisioned with her—unless of course she'd moved on and found happiness.  

While that thought caused an angry, swirling, nausea and jealousy to swirl in his gut, Brantley also knew he wouldn't do a thing to ruin her happiness. Not when she had admitted to him that happiness was the one thing she truly wanted most in the world.  

"So, whats the plan?" Deputy Hawskins asked. He was a small man without much experience with much other than sitting behind a desk—but the Marshall had picked him to ride with them because he was loyal to a fault and would do anything the Marshall asked of him.  

"I'm gonna go in alone," Brantley stated. "I'll kill Gilliam and Samson and I'll capture Hoff."  

The Marshall chuckled. "Surely you're full of shit. You aren't riding in there alone. They'll kill you on sight." 	

Brantley didn't think so. He'd known Hoff most of his life and he had a feeling Hoff wouldn't just shoot him on sight. Hoff would want to drag it out a big longer than that. He'd let Brantley close and that would be his downfall. Hoff had never seen Brantley truly bloodthirsty—because Brantley had never been a bloodthirsty man. Hell, even the poker dealer who'd shot him in the shoulder was still breathing... Brantley wasn't a murderer—or at least he hadn't been.  

And Brantley was also pretty damn sure Hoff wouldn't know he was running with the law. All Hoff knew was that the law was after him. No doubt he thought it was because of Rebecca's husband.  

As far as Hoff knew, Brantley was dead and had been for a while.  

Wouldn't he be surprised.  

"Brantley we can't let you ride in there alone. We're supposed to be doing this together," the Marshall warned him.  

"I'm not asking your permission," Brantley replied stubbornly. "I want to do this alone—if I fail and they kill me, you all handle them and take all the glory for yourselves. Either way it ain't no risk to you."  

Marshall Graves yanked off his hat and smacked it against his leg. "Dammit, Brantley, we've been riding together for months. I consider you a damn friend. You can't be riding in there and getting yourself killed."  

Friend? Hell, Brantley had never had a friend—not really. Did 

he consider the Marshall a friend? No.. he didn’t. But he did respect the man—respected him enough to not risk his life with Hoff.

Hoff would kill all three of the men riding with Brantley simply in an effort to make Brantley suffer. No, Brantley was better off doing this alone.  

"If you consider me a friend, then trust me. I want to end this and I want to end it myself. These men stole my life from me in more ways then one and I want it to be me that they see before they die." Brantley held up his hand when the Marshall opened his mouth. "Except Hoff—I'll bring him back alive—battered, but alive."  

The Marshall and two deputies shared looks of varying degrees of displeasure. "I'm doing this alone," Brantley assured them. "Even if I have to die you bastards up and leave you here while I do it."  

A sigh of defeat left Marshall Grave's lips. "Fine. The men and I will camp here. It's getting close to dark. If you aren't back by morning, we're riding in."  

Brantley nodded and hopped on his horse. Marshall Graves grabbed the bridle and met Brantley's gaze. "Be careful, dammit. You don't deserve to die. You're a good man."  

"I'm not," Brantley countered. "But thanks for saying so."  

With nothing else to say, Brantley urged his horse into motion and left the lawmen behind.  

It was nearly hard dark when Brantley stopped his horse and secured the mare to a shrub bush. He got down low and walked to the edge of the cliff side he was on.  

Lantern light glowed from the window of the tiny shack below. Brantley pulled the collar of his duster coat up to guard the cold wind from his neck as he watched that shack for movement.  

Three horses were hitched outside and Brantley could hear the din of conversation coming from inside. Brantley's fists clenched and unclenched as he watched the curtain move and Hoff's face looked out the window into the cold night.  

He had several reasons for leaving the lawmen behind. One, he didn't want to see anyone else hurt in his hunt for vengeance. Two, he had a healthy helping of stubborn pride that had him wanting to do this alone. Three, and most importantly, he planned on letting out a blood-thirsty brutality that would shock even Hoff. True, Brantley couldn't kill him, but that didn't mean he would leave the man whole. After what Hoff had done to Rebecca, the man deserved every ounce of pain Brantley could deliver him short of death.  

He didn't figure the lawmen would appreciate seeing that side of him.  

Once the curtain fell and Hoff's face disappeared, Brantley began to make his way down the cliff face, following an old donkey trail. He took cover behind a boulder and waited.  

Hours passed, hard dark fell. A full moon and thousands of stars dotted the cloudless sky. Brantley could hear the river water moving, trickling, splashing against the ice on its sides.  

Finally, the lantern inside the cabin was snuffed out. They were going to bed. And still he waited. Brantley had ridden with these men for most of his life. He knew them. He knew their habits. And he knew that every night, no matter how cold, no matter rain or snow, Gilliam took a walk.  

He had always said it helped him relax enough to fall asleep. It would also be what got him killed.  

Sure enough, Brantley didn't have to wait much longer before the skinny bastard made his way out of the shack. He pulled a ragged wool coat tight around himself and his breath swirled around his head as he made his way to the river.  

Remaining crouched, Brantley stalked toward his prey. Silent, fast and determinedly. Pulling his knife from his belt, Brantley came right up behind Gilliam and stood straight.  

Gilliam seemed to notice that someone was behind him. He stiffened and turned but Brantley was ready. He clamped his free hand over Gilliam's mouth to prevent the man from yelling and drove his ten inch blade deep into the skinny man's gut.  

Gilliam' eyes widened. Brantley removed the knife and then drove it in again. Gilliam's legs gave out and Brantley went down with him, keeping his hand over his mouth to maintain his silence.  

"I always said I'd be the one to kill you, you skinny bastard.  

Blood oozed from Gilliam's mouth, soaking Brantley's hand. One last time, Brantley removed his knife before aiming higher and driving it in one last time, piercing Gilliam's heart.  

Brantley didn't move until the life had completely faded from the other man's eyes. Only then did Brantley release his hold on Gilliam's mouth and rise to stand. He wiped his knife and hand clean on Gilliam's coat before turning his attention to the cabin.  

He knew that Hoff and Samson would be asleep. Gilliam never left the cabin until everyone was asleep.  

To sneak or to just barge in, blow a hole in Samson's fat, hairy face and introduce Hoff to the new Brantley. A smile creased his face. Brantley never had been much for subtlety.  

Drawing his gun, Brantley strode to the shack door. Taking a deep breath, He kicked hard, sent the door slamming open with a crack and stepped into the shack. The full moon illuminated the interior and, without hesitation, Brantley fired a shot into a groggy Samson's head before resting his sights on a rather surprised Hoff.  

"Brantley?" he asked, his voice making it clear he was terrified despite the blank look on his face.  

"Stand up, Hoff. Nice and slow."  

Hoff began to rise. He put his hand beneath his blanket and Brantley knew what he was doing. He fired a shot, sending a bullet slamming through Hoff's wrist and causing the man to yell and stumble backward as he clutched his bleeding hand to his chest.  

"Why don't you kick that gun to me, Hoff?"  

"You fucking shot me?!"  

"And you killed me." Brantley cocked a brow. "Paybacks a bitch."  

Hoff cursed as he used his boot to move the blanket aside and then kicked the revolver he'd been going for toward Brantley. Brantley tilted his head toward a rickety chair by a small table.  

"Go sit down."  

"No." Hoff, squared his jaw. "If you're gonna kill me, then kill me. I won't give you the satisfaction of breaking."  

Brantley nodded. "I thought you'd say that."  

He pulled the trigger again and sent a bullet through Hoff's lower leg, driving the other man back to his knees. Brantley grabbed him by the back of the shirt and dragged him across the floor before tossing him in the chair.  

Hoff's face was red and slicked with sweat as he did his best to keep from crying out. "You son of a bitch," Hoff hissed.  

Brantley drew back his fist and punched the other man hard in the jaw. "My mama was a damn fine woman," he snapped.  

Hoff spit blood. "It's been you all this time? You chasing us and killing us... what about the outlaw code? Why are you working with lawmen?"

Brantley laughed harshly. "Outlaw code? We're way past any outlaw code, Hoff. After what you did to her, you're lucky I've let you breathe this long."  

Hoff's eyes widened a bit. "That rich bitch? This is all because of her?"

Brantley punched him again before pulling the loop of rope from his belt. "Sit still," he growled.  

When Hoff attempted to fight him with his good hand, Brantley drove the barrel of his gun into the bullet wound on his leg. Hoff did scream then and finally he collapsed against the chair, breathing hard and seemingly out of fight.  

Brantley secured the man who had once been his brother to the chair. "I take it you killed Gilliam?" Hoff panted, his voice laced with pain.  

"Always said I would."  

"I always knew you'd never make it as one of us," Hoff admitted. "You lack heartlessness."  

Brantley chuckled. "That's where you're wrong. I can be plenty heartless." He holstered his gun and pulled his knife.  

"What are you doing?" Hoff asked, eyeing the knife warily.  

"There's my dilemma, Hoff. I want you dead and I want you dead by my hands. But i've worked myself out a deal and if I want the pardon that's coming my way, I have to deliver you alive to the judge."  

"I'm gonna fucking bleed to death, asshole," Hoff growled.  

"No, you won't. You've been shot up worse than that and lived just fine."

Hoff glared up at him "Why aren't you dead? After what we did to you... any other man would be dead!"  

Brantley clicked his tongue. "It's like you always said, Hoff. I'm as tough as old cow leather."  

Brantley grabbed a struggling Hoff by his good arm. He got up beside him and secured Hoff's arm between his legs. "What the hell are you doing?" Hoff exclaimed, throwing himself against the ropes securing him to chair.  

Brantley held Hoff's hand in a vice like grip, determined to not release him, no matter how hard Hoff hit him with his free hand, no matter how hard Hoff struggled.  

"Cutting off your finger, you damn bastard."  

---

Marshall Graves had waited long enough. Dawn  was fast approaching as the sky began to turn pink and purple above them. He had given Brantley all the time he could give him—the other man had probably gotten himself killed.  

Marshall Graves sincerely hoped that wasn't the case... He did consider Brantley a friend. They'd been riding together for months and he'd learned that Brantley, despite his past as a notorious outlaw, was truly a bad man.  

He wanted Brantley to have that future the man had been working so hard to achieve.  

"Let's mount up, men. We need to ride on in there and see what's going on." As they were busy saddling their horses and putting out the fire, a throat cleared behind them.  

"Going somewhere?"

Marshall Graves whirled around to see Brantley sitting atop his mare. The man was a bloody mess, it was streaked across his face, covered his clothes and his hands looked sticky with the substance.  

Looking behind Brantley, Marshall Graves saw three extra horses. One had a man tied up tight with a sack over his head and secured to the saddle. The other horses were empty, however following the line of the ropes tied to the saddle horns led the Marshall's eyes to two quite obviously dead men they'd been dragging along behind them.  

"Holy hell, Brantley," Deputy Hawskins exclaimed before gagging. "What the hell did you do?"

Deputy Pascowl had already vomited in the snow. The smell of blood was so thick in the air that Marshall Graves knew he'd have it filling his nose and throat for the foreseeable future.

"Killed some people, deputy."  

"Hoff?" Marshall Graves asked warily.  

The sack covered man on the horse let out a moan. Brantley jerked the rope connecting their horses and that moan became one of pain. "He's just fine."  

Striding to the man, Marshall graves, ripped the sack from his head. It was Hoff already. His eyes were damn near swelled shut, he had a broken nose and his lip was split but it was Hoff beneath the bruises and blood. Taking an assessment of the captive, Marshall Graves' stomach rolled.  

"What did you do to him?"

Brantley shrugged. "Roughed him up a bit, shot him twice.... And I might have sawed off his finger."  

That was all Deputy Hawskin's could stand. He blanched and a second steaming pile of vomit was soon decorating the snow.  

Marshall Graves motioned for Deputy Pascowl. "I've got some laudinum in my bag. Get me some for this man. He's gotta be in pain."  

"No," Brantley's voice was sharp and it stopped Pascowl in his tracks. "You ain't giving him anything."  

"Brantley, that man is my prisoner and it'd be inhumane to let him suffer..."  

Brantley was off his horse and standing toe to toe with the Marshall in an instant. Marshall graves would be lying if he said he wasn't scared. Brantley was a blood covered force to be reckoned with and there was nothing friendly about those glaring green eyes just now.  

"Inhumane? He. Sawed. Off. 

Her. Finger. He didn’t care about pain. Do you think the bastard did one thing to ease her suffering? I will shoot any man that tries to ease that son of a bitch’s pain. He’s my prisoner, Marshall Graves, and I’ll treat him any way I damn well please.“

Marshall Graves took a step back. He knew how to pick and choose battles. This was one war he wasn't going to win.  

"Can we at least clean and bandage his wounds so he doesn't die of infection before we get back to the judge?"  

Brantley grudgingly agreed. "Fine. It's more than that bastard did for her but do what you gotta do."

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

Rebecca smiled as she looked at the newly built cabin and laid her hands on her belly—which was nearly ready to pop.

"You want to leave that big, fancy house and live in this itty bitty cabin?" Johnathon asked skeptically as he swiped his sweaty brow with his shirt sleeve.  

Rebecca nodded. "Brantley and I would have had a cabin like this. Something small and cozy to raise our child."  

Johnathon frowned. "You talk about him more than you used to."  

Rebecca pictured that dark hair falling haphazardly over Brantley's brow, his green eyes gazing into hers as he wrapped his arms tight around her. God she missed him. But Johnathon was right. In the month that her mother and brother had been living on the ranch, Rebecca had been talking more and more about Brantley—about the future she'd let herself imagine sharing with him.  

It was a future she wouldn't have but she 

could build a home full of love and laughter for her child—for Brantley’s child.

"They lie when they say that time heals all wounds, but time does change the pain from a sharp sting to a dull ache. I'll always miss him, I'll always love him and I'll always wonder just what could have been between us but I have to move on."  

Johnathon wrapped her in a tight hug and kissed her dark hair. For all his tough talk when he had first arrived, Johnathon was a loving and caring brother—just as he'd been as a boy.  

Rebecca stepped into the cabin, it wasn't yet decorated and wouldn't be until after the babe was born. Her brother, mother and Tillie had been adamant that she could not move out on her own until the babe was born. They worried that she would go into labor alone and not be able to get out to find help.

The cabin was simple but it was sturdy and well-built thanks to her brother's skill and his supervision of every aspect of the build. One large room made up the main area of the cabin which would serve as the kitchen and living area. There was one room off the back suited for bathing with a pump well that poured directly into a tub. There was a room that would serve as the babes room once he or she was old enough and another bedroom that would serve as Rebecca's. A covered porch wrapped all the way around and Rebecca could not wait until spring when she could adorn the porch with flowers.  

"Come on, Becca, we need to get back to the house. Mama and Tillie will have supper ready soon."  

Rebecca nodded and pulled her coat tighter around her as they stepped back outside. Rebecca was happy that her mother's life was now easy. Isabelle no longer looked quite so exhausted and good rest and good food had put a bit of weight back on her bony frame.  

"I'm happy you both came here to me," Rebecca admitted, as Johnathon helped her lift her heavily pregnant frame into the cart. "We lost so many years."  

Johnathon hopped up beside her and nudged her gently with his shoulder as he grabbed up the reins. "We won't lose anymore, Becca."  

As they rode through the frigid winter air, Rebecca felt a twinge of pain low in her belly that wrapped around to her back. She shifted uncomfortably. Several minute later, another pain followed. Just as Rebecca was about to inform her brother that she was in pain, a flow of water gushed from between her legs, soaking her skirts.  

Rebecca's eyes widened. She grabbed Johnathon's coat and tugged the sleeve. "What is it, Becca?"

"Uh..I uh.." Another pain came and Rebecca gripped her stomach. "I believe you're about to be an uncle."  

---

Eight hours later found Rebecca lying in bed with a kerosene lamp glowing gently on the bedside table. She stared down at the peaceful babe, sleeping soundly and safely in her arms and felt a tear roll down her cheek.

If only Brantley could be here to see his daughter. Rebecca remembered stories Brantley had told her about his mother, a woman named Loralie whom he had claimed had been an angel.  

Kissing her daughters soft brow, Rebecca let out a contented sigh. "Sleep well, Loralie Isabelle Mitchell."  

A soft knock came on the door just before Isabelle entered. "Hi mama," Rebecca greeted, feeling tiredness deep in her bones. Bringing a child into the world was exhausting.  

"The doctor just left, sweetheart. He said he'll ride back out in a day or two to check on you." Isabelle perched herself on the side of the bed and gently placed her finger on the sleeping infant's hand. "My granddaughter is beautiful."  

"She really is," Rebecca agreed. "Though, our opinions may be a bit biased."  

Isabelle smoothed Rebecca's damp hair from her face and leaned down to kiss her brow. "I love you, my sweet girl."  

Rebecca's heart constricted. "I love you too, mama."  

"Have you thought of a name for the little angel yet?"

"Lorelie Isabelle Mitchell."  

Isabelle's eyes went misty. "That's a beautiful name. Was Lorelie Brantley's mother?"

"Yes, he spoke very highly of her."  

Isabelle's expression turned wary. "And you're certain you want to give the babe Brantley's last name?"

Rebecca nodded. "Of course I'm certain. This is  his child."  

Isabelle's eyes softened. "I know that, sweetheart, but won't people notice that she doesn't have Martin's last name? Won't they talk?"

"I would never give this beautiful child that monster's name," she insisted, her temper rising. "This is Brantley Mitchel's babe and I will never regret what I shared with him nor will I hide from this baby who her father was. I'm proud to have his child..."  

Isabelle smiled and laid her hand on Rebecca's lips to silence her ranting. "Hush now, don't get so worked up, it's not good for you. I didn't mean to upset you, sweetheart. I was only looking out for your reputation."  

Rebecca rolled her gaze skyward. "I could not care less about my reputation."  

Isabelle kissed her brow again and stood. "You are a strong woman and I'm proud of you. Now, I'm going to go get to washing those bedsheets while you sleep."  

"Mama, rest. Get someone else to do the laundry..."  

Isabelle waved her hand. "Nonesense, if I rest any more than I have been, my backside will forget how to leave the sofa."  

"Mama?" Rebecca whispered, stopping Isabelle in the doorway.  

Her mother turned, her expression concerned. "What is it, sweetheart?"

Rebecca felt as if her heart ripped apart anew in her chest. She sucked in a breath and gripped her daughter just a bit tighter. "I really loved him mama and he loved me... It was like what you and papa had.. I...I miss him so much."  

Tears filled Isabelle's knowing eyes. Without a word, she moved to the bed and curled up upon the mattress, holding Rebecca close.  

For the first time since she'd been a very small girl, Rebecca cried herself to sleep in her mama's safe arms. 

A/N: three chapters in one day!! Fourth chapter already started! I’m starting to feel more like my old self… dare i say my muse may be coming back to me after being missing in action for a year or two? Could it be possible? I don’t want to get my hopes up too quickly but i certainly, certainly, certainly hope my muse has come back to me! I missed that fluttering little bastard!

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Don’t do this, Brantley. Me and you have been trough a lot together. It ain’t right you turning me in to hang.”

Brantley growled as he kept his revolver in Hoff's back and led the shackled man down the boardwalk in town. "I never took you for a man to beg."  

"I ain't begging," Hoff countered, his dark eyes shining with unshed tears. "Hell, yes I am! Dammit Brantley, you've made me pay for what I did to that woman. I'm sorry. I won't hurt her again, just let me go."  

"I know you won't hurt her again," Brantley agreed. "You'll be dead." He hit Hoff in the back of the head causing the man to stumble several steps before righting himself. "Now shut the hell up."  

Brantley would be lying if he said that his gut wasn't feeling a bit uneasy. Sure, he'd been fully prepared to kill Hoff not to long ago and a part of him would still happily do it—but his blood lust was wearing off. He'd been traveling for two weeks with Hoff to bring the man to Judge Wilson. Two weeks was a long time to hold on to rage when the man you were angry at kept throwing up all the history the two of you had.   

Brantley was no murderer—or hadn't been. And for most of his life, Hoff had been his only family.  

But that wasn't the way things were anymore. Hoff had to die—it was the only way to ensure Rebecca's safety. It was the only way that Brantley might stand a chance at a life with that woman.  

Stepping into the courthouse, Brantley was joined by Marshall Graves. "How's our prisoner this morning?"

"Crying like a babe," Brantley informed him.  

"Fuck you, Brantley," Hoff sniffed.  

With a chuckle Brantley led Hoff up the large carpeted staircase that led to the judges office. This was almost over. Damn it had been nearly ten months since he'd seen Rebecca's face. He was more than ready to lay his eyes on it again.  

Marshall Graves knocked on the heavy door to the judges room and the man quickly called for them to enter.  

Rising from his desk, Judge Wilson had a jovial smile on his face as he clapped his hands together once and came to stand in front of Brantley and Hoff.  

"Well damn, you did it! I had my doubts that you'd bring him back alive but here he is..." Judge Wilson frowned a bit. "It's clear you had a bit of fun roughing him up along the way..."  

"You're only requirement was breathing," Brantley reminded him.  

"I would say it's nice to meet you, Hoff, but it's not. I'm glad you're here. You'll have your day in court in one week and then you'll be hanged if the jury finds you guilty."  

Brantley stiffened. "You never said anything about court."  

Judge Wilson shrugged. "It's just a formality. Don't worry, Brantley, with his record he won't be found innocent."  

"And my pardon?"  

"Will be yours as soon as that guilty verdict is cast."  

Brantley wasn't happy. The judge had made it sound as if Hoff's hanging was a sure thing when they'd made their deal. Now it seemed there was a chance the man would walk free and then what would happen to Brantley? Would that mean the judge would settle for hanging him instead?  

Judge Wilson turned away from them and returned to his desk. "Now, take that prisoner to the jail and get him settled in. I've got some correspondence to send. I want everyone to know we've got this outlaw here."   

When they stepped back into the cold, it was Hoff's turn to chuckle. "What is it, Brantley? Realizing maybe you shouldn't have trusted a lawman?"

Brantley chose to remain silent. If that damn judge tried to double cross him, Brantley would make sure he put a bullet in the backstabber right after he put a bullet between Hoff's eyes.  

"I see where your thoughts are going, Brantley," Marshall Graves said as they walked toward the jail on the outskirts of the bustling city. "Don't worry. Judge Wilson has to follow the rule of law and that states that any man brought in alive has to stand trial before he hangs. Plus, he wants the attention it will gain. He likes beating his chest and hearing congratulations. But Hoff will hang and you will have your pardon."  

Brantley pulled his hat down lower and pressed the revolver just a bit tighter into Hoff's back. "I better."  

---

Sitting in that courtroom, Brantley felt as awkward as a well-paid whore in church on Sunday. But he didn't let that discomfort show. Weakness was death—he'd learned that at a young age and it wasn't something he ever figured he'd forget.  

They'd taken his weapons before letting him enter. He was still technically a wanted outlaw, after all. Brantley sat in the back and never took his eyes off Hoff as the lawyers talked to witnessess and conversed and all around just wasted the fucking day away.  

Why did Hoff need to be found guilty? Hell, didn't a dead or alive bounty already prove a man's guilt?

Hoff would meet Brantley's gaze now and then, obviously feeling Brantley's eyes boring holes in him. When their eyes did meet, Hoff would smile. It was cold and it was humorless and Brantley would simply sit there as still as stone with no expression. He just wanted this to be over.  

At the end of the day, Brantley felt as if he were crawling out of skin in this crowded courtroom. They'd been waiting nearly an hour for the jury to deliberate. Finally that door opened and the jury filed back into the courtroom, taking their seats once again.  

The bailiff took the paper from the lead juror and walked it over to Judge Wilson who looked at it and nodded, his expression giving away nothing.  

"Jury, have you reached a decision?" Judge Wilson asked.  

Brantley knew his life hung in the balance. The next words would decide whether he'd become a free man or whether he'd be murdering a judge and Hoff before meeting his own end.  

The lead juror cleared his throat. "We the jury find the defendant.....

guilty.“

---

The next morning Brantley found himself knocking on the Judge’s office door. “Come in.”

"When is he hanging?" Brantley asked, stepping into the office.  

"I waned to speak to you about that," Judge Wilson motioned to the chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat."  

"I'd rather not waste time. I want my pardon and I want to know when I can watch that bastard go swinging."  

"Sit Brantley."  

Brantley bristled at being given a command but he knew the Judge had control in this situation so he did as he was told. Judge Wilson shuffled some papers on his desk and sighed. "I have had a change of mind in the case of Hoff. The man was found guilty and will be punished for his crimes but I no longer want to hang him."  

"And why not?" Brantley asked, his calm demeanor betrayed by the twitching of the muscle in his cheek.  

Judge Wilson didn't seem happy about the situation. He didn't seem to like the words he was saying any more than Brantley did. "I was approached by some powerful men who feel that there is another way to punish Hoff."  

Brantley said nothing. He simply sat there waiting on the Judge to speak further. Judge Wilson rubbed his neck. "Hoff will never walk free. Your woman is safe. He's going to spend the rest of his life in Fresco Prison."  

Brantley sat there a moment and then threw his head back and laughed. It had been nearly a year since he'd truly laughed—he hadn't done it since he and Rebecca had been sharing that little shack.  

Judge Wilson seemed surprised. "Well you're taking the news better than I thought you would."  

Brantley nodded. "Truth is, I wanted the man dead, but as far as suffering go, he'll suffer a hell of a lot more living the rest of his life in a cage than he would have with a quick death at the gallows."

Brantley could only imagine how horrible a life that would be for a man like Hoff. A man used to being in charge and answering to no one. A man used to living on horseback and riding free.... Hell, Brantley himself would rather die than live a life in prison.  

"I guess that's one way to look at it," Judge Wilson agreed. He pulled an envelope from his desk drawer and reached it across the desk. "Here's your pardon, Brantley Mitchel. I've sent word to every lawman in this state and the surrounding ones. You're a free man."  

Brantley took the envelope and pulled the paper out. He read it over and then quickly put it away before the Judge would see his shaking hands. "Thank you."  

Judge Wilson shook his head. "No, thank you. Because of you, twelve dangerous men are no longer a threat to the citizens of this nation. Just remember that although you've been pardoned, we'll still be keeping an eye on you. If you step over the line, that pardon will be revoked."  

Brantley rose to his feet and nodded. "Understood."  

Judge Wilson stood as well. He held out his hand and Brantley shook it firmly. "It was good working with you, Brantley. Have a good life."  

Brantley practically ran from the courthouse and through the crowded streets to the livery. He didn't stop for traffic, he nudged people out of his way and he probably left quite a few grumbling people in his wake. He didn't care.  

He had his freedom. The gang was no longer a threat. Life was his to live. And only one thing kept repeating itself over and over in his mind.  

Rebecca.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Brantley stopped in the town nearest Rebecca’s home. Vanity had never been one of his characteristics but he’d been riding hard for a week to get there and wanted a bath, a change of clothes and a shave. He wanted to make a good impression.

She no doubt thought he was dead—he sure as hell didn't need to show up smelling like it.  

His nerves were eating a hole in his stomach as he hopped back on his horse an hour later and headed out of town. What if Rebecca wasn't happy to see him? What if she chose to stay with Martin? What if she and Martin had divorced and she no longer lived on the ranch?

Well, if that were the case that bastard would just have to tell Brantley where to find her.  

But what if there was someone else? What if Brantley had been gone too long and Rebecca had found her happiness with someone who wasn't him?

Brantley growled and rubbed at his nauseous stomach. He hoped that wasn't the case but, if it was, Brantley would just have to walk away... as long as Rebecca had found that happiness she'd been searching for, Brantley could walk away and leave her to have it.  

But, damn, that would gut him.

Attachments were things that Brantley had worked hard to avoid in his life. Tenderness was an emotion he had worked hard to never feel. Those things were dangerous. They meant you had weaknesses—things to lose. But he knew he'd failed when it came to Rebecca.  

That woman was one hell of a weakness.  

It took a lot of riding but finally the home began to come into view. Brantley knew this had to be the home she shared with Martin. Smallwood Ranch was written on the iron gate that stood open as he rode through it.  

What would he do if he was met by that bastard? Probably punch him in his goddamn throat.  

Bushes and trees—all perfectly manicured lined the path toward the house—and what a damn house it was. Three stories tall and gaudy as hell. It screamed opulence and Brantley hated the sight of it. He couldn't imagine his Rebecca living in a place like this. Hell, no wonder she had compared it to prison. Brantley had never been much for fineries. He wanted a small cabin, a bed big enough to laying Rebecca down on and table for two in the kitchen where they could sit and talk and laugh. That's all he needed.  

But apparently Martin was not familiar with simplicity. The barns were just as damn hoity toity as the house was—hell they were nicer than the livery stables in most towns Brantley had been in. Corrals were spread out and Brantley knew the ranch must stretch for miles and miles. Hell, he could probably ride for days and not see everything there was to see.  

Men milled around the many barns, tending horses and cattle. Chickens ran loose and there were several dogs lazing about in the dirt. Heading toward the house, cause that's where he figured Rebecca would be but he was stopped by a large man with a gun on his hip.  

"Just who are you and where do you think you're going?"

"I need to speak with the lady of the house," Brantley replied, not quite ready to give his name. For all knew Martin might know his name and his men might have orders to shoot Brantley on sight.  

The man frowned and rubbed at his red beard. "And just what would a stranger like you have to say to Miss Rebecca?"  

Brantley felt relief. At least he knew Rebecca still called the ranch home. "Or are you here for Isabelle?"

Isabelle? It was Brantley's turn to frown. Who the hell was Isabelle?

"Uh.. Rebecca. I'm here for Rebecca."  

The man still didn't seem near ready to let Brantley continue his ride to the house. "Take your horse to that first barn over there and hitch it up. I'll find Miss Rebecca and see if she's expecting any visitors. What did you say your name was?"

Brantley hopped from his horse and began to lead the mare toward the barn, fully aware of the large, red-haired man behind him. "I didn't."  

"Then how the hell am I supposed to let her know who's here?"

Brantley was about to answer but was stopped dead in his tracks by a familiar laugh coming from inside the barn he was walking toward.  

He swore his heart skittered in his chest an his grip on his horse's reins tightened. The man behind him was talking, insisting to know his name, but Brantley ignored him.  

Out of the darkness of the barn, he saw her emerging. Hell, she looked like an angel as she stepped out into the light.  

That dark hair was pulled away from her face but hanging loose and long down her back. Her doe brown eyes were sparkling and her full lips were curved in a happy smile. She was still so short, so tiny and petite, though her waist looked softer than it had before. Brantley didn't mind that. The woman was perfection.  

But he swallowed hard and that skittering heart of his fell into his boots because that sparkling in her doe brown eyes and that smile curving her full lips were aimed at the tall, dark-haired man she was arm in arm with stepping out of that barn.  

A man who was smiling just as happily back down at her.  

His Rebecca had found someone else—and it looked like she was happy.  

---

Rebecca had been laughing at one of her brother's comments on horse's asses and rich folks. She'd been smiling and fully prepared to remind him that, by default, he was now a 

rich folk , but all that stopped the moment she looked forward and saw him .

Her world completely stopped turning. She no longer heard the men working. The horses were silent. The chickens had stopped their pecking. The dogs weren't barking or growling or digging at fleas.  

Nothing else in the entire universe remained in existence.  

Standing less than twenty feet from her was the man she had thought dead. The man she had cried countless tears over. The man she loved.  

Johnathon seemed oblivious as he continued walking toward Brantley. Rebecca was too stunned to do or say a word as she allowed Johnathon to pull her along with him.  

"Peter, who's this?" Johnathon asked the ranch foreman who was standing behind Brantley looking quite irritated.  

"I don't know. He won't tell me his name."  

Rebecca swallowed hard. Brantley's green eyes were looking straight into hers. She let her gaze run across his face.. That messy hair, strong jaw, chiseled cheek bones. His body was still just as lean and strong as she remembered. One of his big calloused hands had a death grip on his horse's reins while the other rested on his revolver.  

Johnathon seemed to notice the way the two were staring at each other and he pointed at Brantley. "Becca, do you know who this man is?"

Rebecca knew she should speak. She needed to speak. But her voice wouldn't come. Her mind whirled. Brantley looked sad—he looked devastated. His green eyes were a war of emotions as his throat bobbed. His tongue ran across his bottom lip. "I didn't mean to intrude on your day, ma'am," he said, his voice void of any of the emotions that were shining in his eyes. "I should have sent a letter, I didn't realize you.. I didn't realize you'd moved on. I'm real glad though, ma'am. You look happy and you told me happiness was the one thing you really wanted." Brantley paused and cleared his throat. "I just came to let you know that Hoff and the others aren't a threat anymore. They're gone. And I got a pardon so I get a fresh start."  

Why was Brantley acting like he was about to leave? Why was he calling her ma'am? Why was he mounting his damn horse?  

"Brantley?" Rebecca called, finally finding her voice.  

Brantley paused with one hand on the saddle horn and one foot in the stirrup. He didn't turn to look at her. His posture was rigid and he was shaking.  

"Dammit, Rebecca, I'm trying to be a good man and walk away.... You obviously love that man your holding onto and you're obviously happy. That's all I care about."  

Rebecca looked up at her younger brother who was staring hard at Brantley's back. She removed her arm from Johnathon's and took a step forward but was stopped from speaking when her mama stepped out onto the porch of the house.  

"Rebecca, sweetheart, the little one is getting fussy. I believe she needs her mother!"  

Now, Brantley turned. Rebecca knew he was fighting with all he had but she also could see the redness in his eyes and knew that he was near tears. The foolish man. Did he honestly think that Johnathon was her man? Did he honestly believe that she could have moved on from him? He was her one—you don't simply move on once you've found your one.  

"A baby?" he whispered. "So you weren't the problem after all." He turned his gaze to Johnathon but Rebecca didn't miss the way that his hand gripped a bit tighter on his gun. "Congratulations. You better treat her good."  

Rebecca was about to tell Brantley he was wrong and they needed to talk privately, but the man surprised her when he swooped in suddenly and wrapped her in tight hug, gathering her against his chest and burying his face in her hair.  

"I really am happy for you, Rebecca. I shouldn't be hugging you in front of your husband but I had to touch you one last time. You always wanted a babe. You'll be a great mom."  

Rebecca breathed in his scent and held him tight. Brantley... her Brantley. How long had she dreamed that she'd finally hold him in her arms again.  

"Brantley, we need to..."  

Brantley pulled away before she could finish. With a sniff and quick swipe of his face with his shirtsleeve he took several big steps back. His face became an unreadable mask. "I'll be leaving now."  

Johnathon stepped forward as Brantley turned his back. He grabbed Brantley's shoulder and whirled the man around. "You're Brantley?"

"Yeah, and I'm trying to be a good man and leave without putting a bullet straight between your eyes, so if you'll let me go...."  

Without another word, Johnathon balled up his fist and swung, catching Brantley hard in the jaw. Brantley staggered back several steps, spit out a bit of blood and lunged.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Brantley had been trying hard—so hard—to simply walk away and leave Rebecca to her happiness. What he had wanted to do was declare the woman his, toss her over his shoulder and ride her out of here and away from the man currently beside her.  

But he hadn't done that. He'd been a regular fucking gentlemen and had been fully prepared to leave until that jackass had spun him around, demanded his name and then punched him in the face.  

Punched him? The bastard had stolen Rebecca and then had the nerve to throw a punch? Brantley  spit out a stream of blood, lost all control of his good sense, and attacked.  

His fist fell hard across the man's temple, knocking the other man to the ground. Brantley's momentum carried him down with him and the two became a tangle of fists as they rolled around in the dirt.  

Whoever this man was, he cleary didn't have a lot of experience in fighting but he was also good and mad and that helped him land several good punches to Brantley's head and gut.  

Brantley could hear Rebecca yelling for him to stop but he was far past listening to reason. Her husband had started this—Brantley planned on finishing it. He flipped, the man around so he was on his back and then Brantley straddled him and landed a hard punch that addled the stranger.  

Without giving him time to recover, Brantley landed another punch and then another. He was lost in a rage and nothing was going to break through that red haze he was stuck in....nothing except Rebecca's next words.  

"Brantley, stop killing my brother!"  

Brantley froze and turned his gaze to her. She was red-faced, clearly very angry and her hands were fisted on her hips.  

Brother?  

Clearly the man on the ground saw an opening with Brantley distraction and his fist caught Brantley hard, sending him flying sideways.  

"Johnathon! Dammit, stop fighting!"  

Brantley could see Rebecca's foot stomp roughly. "Peter, if anyone else throws a punch, shoot them in the backside."  

The large red-haired man nodded. "Will do, ma'am."  

Brantley was no longer in the mood to fight. Brother? Johnathon was her brother? Recognition dawned in Brantley's mind. Isabelle was Rebecca's mother's name.. that meant the woman on the porch holding a baby, (a baby that was wailing loudly at this point), was Rebecca's mother and this man was her brother Johnathon and the baby.....

Brantley heard Rebecca choke back a sob. Damn that sound tore at his heart. She whirled around and began to stride away toward the house. Brantley scrambled to his knees, though his head was spinning to badly from Johnathon's sucker punch to rise to his feet.  

"Where are you going?" he demanded.  

Without turning to look at him or pausing in her march towards the house, rebecca threw up her hands. "To feed your damn daughter, you hot-tempered asshole."  

The world stopped spinning. Brantley sat there on his knees and stared at the house Rebecca had just disappeared into with Isabelle and the baby....his baby?  

How long he remained that way, Brantley couldn't say. Time seemed to have lost all function and meaning. It wasn't until Johnathon's hand was placed in front of his face that Brantley snapped out of his daze.  

"Let me help you up."  

Brantley growled and knocked the offered hand away before standing. "I don't need any damn help." Brantley wiped his arm across his lip to clean the blood oozing from it. Johnathon's face was a mess as well—Brantley had done a number on his eyes and his nose was bleeding.  

Now that Rebecca wasn't around, Brantley was no longer comfortable showing the weakness he'd shown in her prescence. Hell, he hadn't been vulnerable on purpose—it went against everything he'd ever learned in his life. Rebecca brought out a side of him that Brantley hadn't even realized existed.  

Damn, he'd cried and he knew Johnathon and Peter  had seen it. The last thing he needed Johnathon thinking was that Brantley was a weak man because of those tears.  

"Why the hell did you hit me?" Brantley demanded.  

Johnathon pull his bandana from his pocket and began to gingery clean his own face. "Because my sister has spent a long time crying because you were dead. Then you show up here and planned on riding off again?"

Brantley's fists clenched. He hated knowing Rebecca had been mourning him. "I thought you were her husband. I was attempting to be a good man and simply walk away."  

"Husband? Hell, she doesn't have a husband anymore."  

"Martin?"  

"Gone. She divorced him and now all this is hers."  

"And that babe?"

Johnathon shook his head. "She'll box my ears good if I don't mind my own business. She's already mad enough that I punched her 

perfect Brantley in his face.“

Her perfect Brantley? He nearly laughed. He was nowhere near perfect but he sure as hell 

was hers.

Brantley was done talking to Johnathon. He wanted Rebecca and he wanted her now. Turning toward the house he started that way but was stopped when Johnathon grabbed his arm.  

Brantley stiffened. "I don't know who the hell you think you are but I ain't the type of man who takes kindly to being manhandled. You either remove your hand from my person or I'll remove it for you."  

Quickly, Johnathon let his hand fall. "I just wanted to say something else."  

Brantley turned to look at him and raised a brow expectantly. Johnathon cleared his throat and rose to his full height which matched Brantley's. "My sister has cried a lot over you. I don't know why you didn't let her know you were alive and I guess that's between you and her, but I'm gonna warn you. You might be a tough man. You might be an outlaw. But that's my sister and I lost a lot of years with her and she sacrificed a lot to give me a better life. I won't see her hurt anymore. You hurt her and I'll kill you."  

Brantley frowned then threw his head back and laughed. This man was actually threatening him? He had to admit he was impressed—amused, but impressed.  

"I don't plan on hurting her, Johnathon. You have my word on that. I won't make a murderer out of you."  

"And what about you?" Johnathon asked, his eyes narrowing. "Are you a murderer?"

Brantley knew his answer needed to be an honest one. He had to build some form of honest and respectable relationship with Rebecca's brother. So instead of simply trying to scare the man which is what Brantley probably would have done in the past, Brantley met Johnathon's eyes. "When it comes to protecting that woman in there? Hell yes I am."  

Without wasting another moment on Johnathon and his questions, Brantley headed for the house. His knees were weak and his legs were shaking but he didn't let that low his strides.  

His woman was waiting for him inside...and so was his daughter. 

A/N: OKay, okay, i’ll stop teasing! Let’s get some true Brantley and Rebecca reunions happening in the next chapter!

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Rebecca’s anger had subsided quickly as she’d sat in a chair in her old bedroom and nursed little Lorelie. The baby was a month old now and her dark hair was thickening on her head. Her eyes were still blue but Rebecca hoped they would become that same green shade her father’s were.

Her father. Brantley. The man was back. The shock was beginning to fade but she was still in completely disbelief. Brantley had been gone for nearly a year... she had thought he was dead.  

How had he survived? And what had he meant about the gang no longer being a threat? How had he managed a pardon? Had he come back because he wanted a future with Rebecca? Is that why he'd worked to get a 'fresh start'.  

Rebecca cursed under her breath. Why hadn't she been able to speak up? She'd been trying to.. she'd been trying to speak, to let Brantley know she was still very much his, but her voice simply hadn't worked.  

Then it had worked far too well and she had blurted out that Brantley had a daughter. Good way to run the man off for good. He was probably so scared and so confused now, he'd run miles and miles before stopping for breath.

Rebecca switched Lorelie to the other side of her chest and smoothed her hair from her forehead before pressing a tender kiss to the babes skin.  

Whenever Rebecca had let herself dream of a reunion with Brantley, it certainly hadn't gone the way things had gone outside. She couldn't believe that Johnathon had punched Brantley! And then Brantley had attacked Johnathon.. Brantley had seemed ready to kill him.  

Rebecca felt a delicious little tremor pass over her as color rose to her cheeks. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't enjoying watching the way Brantley's lithe powerful body had moved with just as much deadly grace as she remembered.  

She only wished that witnessing that hadn't had to come at the expense of her brother's face. A small knock sounded on the door just before her mama entered the room, closing the door behind her.  

"You have a man waiting in the hall, sweetheart." Her mama's eyes were full of that knowing glow.  

"That's Brantley, mama."  

"I was able to figure that out for myself. He and your brother seem to have gotten to know each other well."

Rebecca adjusted the blanket Lorelie was swaddled in. "Johnathon shouldn't have attacked him."  

"Johnathon loves you and wants to make sure you're safe."  

"Brantley wouldn't hurt me," Rebecca insisted.  

Isabelle didn't seem quite as convinced. Rebecca could tell the woman was choosing her words carefully. "He 

is here alive which means that for nearly a year he could have sent you word so you would no longer be mourning his death.“

"I'm sure he had his reasons for not doing so," Rebecca countered—and she was real eager to find out exactly what those reasons were.

Isabelle sighed. "He was nothing but polite to me but he also didn't seem to happy that I made him wait in the hall. I just wanted to talk to  you..."  

"What is it, mama?" Rebecca asked as Lorelie seemed to lose interest in her meal and began to drift off to sleep.  

Isabelle came forward and sat on the edge of the bed. She put a gentle but calloused hand on Rebecca's arm. "I made a lot of mistakes as your mother, Rebecca. When your father died, I lost a part of myself as well. I tried so hard to take care of you and your brothers..."  

"Mama, you took care of us the best you could. We never blamed you when we went without," Rebecca insisted.

Isabelle smiled but the gesture didn't reach her sad eyes. "But I blamed myself. And then I made the most horrible mistake of all and I used my young daughter as a way to buy myself out of poverty. There will never come a day when I dont' hate myself for what I did to you—knowing the kind of loveless life you lived for so long here."  

Rebecca felt her heart twist. "Mama, why are we talking about this? You did what you had to do and I didn't argue. I 

wanted to help you and the boys.“

"That responsibility never should have been placed on your shoulders." The tone in Isabelle's voice made it clear she would except no further argument from Rebecca on the subject. Isbelle's eyes softene as she laid her hand on Rebecca's cheek. "I want you to be happy, sweetheart. I want you to have the life you want, whatever that life may be."

Her mother paused as she looked at the closed door. "If this Brantley is what you want, I won't offer a word against it, and I'll have a talk with your brother. But I don't want you to rush things. I know that you spent a few days in that shack with the man and I know you say you fell in love and I don't want to counter that, however, the truth is, you hardly know him. He 

is a man who earned himself the title of an outlaw and he chose to run with the ruthless men who took you and hurt you. I’m not saying that Brantley is a bad man, truthfully I hope he is everything that you have built him up to be, but please take time. Truly learn him. You have experienced far too much pain in your life and I don’t think I can bear watching you endure any more.“

Rebecca didn't know what to say. She knew her mother's words were spoken out of love. Isabelle pressed identical kisses to both her daughter and granddaughter's brows before leaving the room and closing the door once again.  

Rebecca rose to her feet. Lorelie was sleeping peacefully in her arms so she carried the girl to the cradle that she had used for the babe while they'd lived here before moving to the cabin.  

Fixing her top an smoothing out her skirt, Rebecca swallowed hard and glanced at the door. Was Brantley going to knock soon or was Rebecca going to have to go get him herself?

As if he could read her mind, Brantley's firm knock sounded on the door. Rebecca's heart jumped. Her voice shook when she called, "Come in."  

The door opened and there he was. His crisp gray shirt and new black pants were covered in dirt from his tussle in the dirt with Johnathon. His gun belt was slung low on his lean hips and drew her gaze downward, making it a real challenge to force it up to his face.  

His lip was split but Brantley was still so rugged, so masculine and attractive that it stole her breath. His dark hair had fallen over his brow and those green eyes were locked on her.  

Green eyes that were not guarded or hiding any emotion in this room with her. He was clearly confused and she could also read regret, happiness , and.....lust.  

A hungry growl left Brantley's throat. He kicked the door closed behind him and, without a word, he strode across the room in two steps and pulled her into his arms.  

Quickly, his hungry lips found hers and they crashed together in a furious passion that stole her breath and made every inch of her body heat with need. Brantley's big hands encased either side of her face, holding her tenderly even in his hunger.  

Rebecca buried her hands in his hair, loving the feel of those thick strands between her fingers. Brantley put one arm behind him, laying it low on her back and pulling her closer still.  

Rebecca's body molded to him, feeling that hard proof of Brantley's desire pressed against her stomach.  

"You're so goddamn small.. perfect," he growled, stooping low to run his lips along her neck, nipping at the tender flesh. Rebecca's legs weakened and she would have fallen had Brantley's strong arms not held her up.  

This was her man and she wanted him.  

With a groan that seemed painful, Brantley pulled away, his breathing ragged. His brow screwed up as he put a bit of distance between them and held up his hands.  

"Talk. We need to talk."  

Rebecca was about to insist that she didn't want to talk and leap back at the man to finish what they'd started but her mother's words replayed themselves in her mind. 

‘Truly learn him,’ the other woman had insisted.

She supposed they really did need to talk.  

Rebecca went to the armchair and turned it so it was facing the bed. She sat down and motioned for Brantley to sit on the bed facing her.  

She watched him move across the room, every inch the predator he'd always seemed. She also noticed that he seemed determined 

not to glance toward the cradle by the wall. For some reason that hurt her.

Brantley sat down, his knees touching Rebecca's. He took her hands in his and simply stared down at their joined hands. His gaze lingered on her missing finger as his thumb ran across the long-healed wound.  

"I'm damn glad this healed up good. I was worried about you."  

"It's been nearly a year. There are plenty of ways you could have learned I was okay in that time."  

Brantley sighed. He released his hand, reached in his pocket and pulled out a rolled cigarette and a box of matches. Rebecca didn't say a word as he lit the cigarette and took a slow draw off it.  

"Where have you been?" Rebecca demanded, suddenly desperate to know why he'd left her to suffer so long. "You know darn well I thought they killed you that night."  

"I couldn't send you word, Rebecca. I was still a very wanted man. Every law man there is had my dead or alive poster in their office. I couldn't risk the wrong person realizing I'd sent you word and putting you in a tough situation or getting myself hanged before I was able to finish what I needed to do."  

Rebecca didn't think that was a good enough reason but there was nothing anyone could do about it now. What was done was done and the past couldn't be changed.  

"Why didn't Hoff kill you?"

"He did." Brantley shrugged. "Or at least he thought he did."  

"What did they do to you, Brantley?"

Brantley leaned forward and took her hand. "I don't want to talk about that."  

"I want you to talk about it," she countered. "I want to know what happened to you. I want to know why you were gone so long."  

Brantley sighed. He lifted his foot and put the cigarette out on the bottom of his boot. "Hoff had the gang beat me enough to kill a man. I don't know how long it went on, I just know it hurt. Then he tied me behind his horse and dragged me at a gallop for a while. Then he untied me, told me goodbye and left. He figured I'd be dead. I should have been dead."  

"But you're not."  

Brantley's cheeks crinkled as he smiled and those green eyes took her breath. "Remember, Rebecca? I'm as tough as old cow leather."

Rebecca returned the smile. "I remember."  

"And I couldn't die just then. I knew that as long as Hoff and the gang were alive and free, you would never be completely safe. I managed to drag my ass to a town and the doc there fixed me up while keeping my identity secret."  

Rebecca hesitantly reached for his free hand  and Brantley was quick to take her hand and entwine their fingers. "After that I made the decision to go to the US Marshall and make a deal. I helped hunt down the gang and in return I gained  a pardon."  

Rebecca saw something in his eyes that she realized hadn't been there when they'd shared their time in the shack. It was a haunted expression that made her heart ache for him. Poor Brantley... So many bad things he'd been forced to do simply because Rebecca had come into his life.  

"That was a huge risk you took going to the law, Brantley. What if they hadn't wanted to make a deal with you?"

"I would have died," he replied simply. "But it was a chance I was willing to take. It was the only way I might have a future with you."  

Rebecca chewed her lip. Did they have a future? She certainly hoped they did. Rebecca was more than willing to bring Brantley into her life and keep him there always with her and little Lorelie—but would Brantley want that.  

Rebecca was too much a coward to ask in that moments so instead she asked, "Did you kill them all?"

Brantley nodded, his grip on her hands tightening a bit. "Yes." Then he sighed. "All except one. The law decided that a better punishment for Hoff would be to live in a prison cell for the rest of his life. I reckon that's a punishment worse than death for men like me and Hoff."  

Rebecca shook her head. "You're not like Hoff."  

Brantley simply brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. That spark shot from her toes to the top of her head. She wanted this man with everything in her... Her body screamed and ached for him. Rebecca was preparing to leap upon him and toss him down in the bed but his next words cooled a bit of her desire.  

"Your brother told me Martin was gone."  

Rebecca snorted. "I divorced him."  

"And he let you keep all this?"  

"Plus many of his stocks in the railroad."  

Brantley raised a brow. "How'd you manage that?"

"He didn't want me letting people know that he left me in the hands of those men and it was his fault I was mutilated and....well..." Suddenly Rebecca stopped. She'd been about to tell Brantley that Martin didn't want folks knowing she'd been raped and impregnated because of his actions... that was the lie she'd told to Martin to help ensure he'd give her what she wanted.  

But if she said such a thing in front of Brantley it was bound to hurt him. And Rebecca didn't want to hurt him.

Brantley nodded as if he understood her unspoken words. "You told him what you had to tell him in order to be free. I'm proud of you and I'm happy for you." He looked around the room, full of ostentatiousness that was all Martin. "You got yourself quite a place here."  

Before Rebecca could reply, Lorelie cried out from her cradle. Brantley leaped away like he'd been shot and he all but ran to the farthest corner from the cradle—the corner that was also nearest the door.  

Rebecca's hands were shaking as she walked to the cradle and picked up the fussy infant, cooing gently to calm their daughter. The time had come. It was time for Brantley to meet his child.  

Rebecca adjusted the blanket Lorelie was wrapped in, kissed the girls brow and took a deep breath. "Okay, Brantley. Are you ready to meet your...."  

Her voice trailed off as she turned and realized that Brantley was no longer standing in the corner—Brantley was no longer in the room at all.  

Rebecca waited for the hurt but instead it was anger that overwhelmed her. Where the devil had that man gone?

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

Brantley’s worn boots ate up that plushly carpeted hallway as he paced back and forth, back and forth. He shoved his hand through his dark hair and puffed his newly lit cigarette for all he was worth.

Damn...

He wanted Rebecca. He wanted a future that had her in it. He'd done everything he'd done in the past year just to ensure there'd be a chance at that future...  

But here Rebecca sat in her gaudy house with all her fineries and Brantley just didn't fit. He could never live here. He could never be surrounded by so much 

wealth and ever be comfortable.

And a babe? What was a man like Brantley supposed to do with a babe? Surely he'd break it somehow... and if it did manage to survive, what did Brantley know about being a father? Nothing, he knew absolutely nothing.  

The life he'd lived had been a hard one—weakness, softness, caring—all those things could get a man killed. But weren't those the same things he'd need in order to help raise a child? The only father figure Brantley had ever had in his life was Hoff.  

"Can I ask you why you're out here pacing the hallway instead of meeting your child?" Rebecca's voice came from behind him. "If this isn't what you want then you need to go now and not waste another moment of my time. I didn't ask to get with child, Brantley, I didn't even know I could, but it happened and you can either accept it and build a future with us or you can leave. I understand if your choice is to go. You didn't ask to be a father."

Brantley could hear the pain in her voice. It made his own heart ache. Rebecca had known enough pain in her life—he didn't need to add to it.   But what the hell was he supposed to do?  

He kept his back to her because it was easier to speak when he wasn't look in those brown eyes. "You were never mine, Rebecca, not really. But damn if I didn't find myself imagining a future with you the entire time we were in that cabin. You got in my blood, made me want more than what I had."  

"Brantley I was yours... I 

am yours.“

Brantley felt a jolt of want but shook his head, still not looking back at her. "Everything I've done since that cabin was done in an effort to make sure you were safe.. and to ensure a chance at that future I'd pictured."  

Rebecca's voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. "And I'm guessing a child was never part of that future you wanted?"

Brantley was too damn tired to lie. "No, it wasn't. You weren't supposed to be able to have children and I never once in my life wanted to be a father."  

"I never misled you, Brantley. I honestly did not know I could conceive a child."  

Brantley rubbed at the back of his neck. "I know you didn't and I am happy that you were wrong, Rebecca. You wanted that babe. You 

needed that babe.“

"But you don't?"

Brantley's heart twisted. "When I pictured our future, this wasn't it. This house, while it's damn nice, I can't live here. I don't know how to be a father. I don't fit here. I don't fit in this life you've made yourself. And I'm not mad at you—I'm not blaming you. You wanted happiness and I saw you outside with your brother. You found happiness. That's all I ever wanted for you."

Brantley stiffened, a tremble washing over him when he felt Rebecca's hand on his back. "Do you remember what you said to me just before Martin took me away?"

Brantley jaw tightened as he nodded. "Yeah I remember." He'd told her to find her happiness.  

"And do you remember what I said to you?"  

His heart ached. "I remember." She had told him that 

he was her happiness.

Her fingers ran down his back as her arm fell away. "I love you, Brantley. Against all odds I fell in love with you in that shack. All I've dreamed of since was a future with you, but since you were dead, I knew those were dreams that could never come true. When I saw you, I thought maybe, just maybe , my dreams could come true." She paused and Brantley heard her take a steadying breath. "But I don't want those dreams if you're not sure they are what you want too. I love you enough to let you walk away if you won't be happy with us."  

Brantley swallowed hard. Dammit, he didn't want a future if Rebecca wasn't in it. Rebeca was what he wanted.  

"Can I..." His voice trembled and he knew his hands were shaking. "Can I meet my daughter?"

Brantley heard the swishing of skirts as Rebecca came around him. She stood in front of him and Brantley let his eyes once again drink in the sight of her face. That dark hair, that pale skin and those doe eyes that were red rimmed and full of tears.  

Brantley followed one of those tears as it slid down her cheek and his eyes traced the path it made along her graceful throat. Then his gaze went lower still to the peaceful bundle in her arms.  

His eyes landed on that pink skin all wrapped in a yellow gingham blanket. Dark hair was thick on the babe's head and her rosy cheeks were full. Blue eyes gazed up at him as if seeing straight into his soul.  

She had Rebecca's dainty nose and her stubborn chin.  

His daughter. 

Their daughter.

The babe's arm had broken free from the blanket she was wrapped in and Brantley reached up with a trembling finger. He placed that finger, covered in callouses and scars, against the silk smooth skin of his daughter's hand.  

Never in his life had Brantley had something tug at his heart quite like when that tiny pink hand,  closed around his finger and squeezed tight.  

"What's..." Brantley cleared the emotion from his throat, never taking his eyes off that little pink face. "What's her name?"

"Lorelie. Lorelie Isabelle Mitchel."  

Brantley's eyes widened and he moved his gaze to Rebecca's face. "You named her after my mama?"

Rebecca's gentle hand swiped a tear from Brantley's cheek as she nodded. "I did. I know how much your mother meant to you."  

He nodded and looked back down at his daughter, wishing he could somehow stop the tears that were rolling down his cheeks but unashamed to shed them for Rebecca to see. "And you gave her my last name?"

"Of course I did. She's your child and I was proud to be carrying your child."  

A smile faintly curved Brantley's lips. Rebecca was such a strong woman. Strong, warm, smart, resourceful... and damned beautiful. Of course she wouldn't give the baby Martin's last name, or even her maiden name. Of course she would give her the last name of a dead outlaw just because she didn't give a damn about what anyone else thought.  

Brantley felt Rebecca's gentle touch on his arm and Lorelie's tiny hand was still wrapped tight around his finger. Who was he kidding? He couldn't leave them. If he walked out that door, if he walked away from these two ladies, Brantley would never again know happiness. He would spend the rest of his miserable life wondering what could have been had he been brave enough to stay.  

Brantley met Rebecca's gaze, looked into her tear-filled brown eyes and smiled. "I reckon I'm yours, Rebecca. I ain't going anywhere."

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-One

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t live in that monstrosity of a house?”

Rebecca smiled at Brantley as she held Lorelie to her chest and he helped her from the cart they'd ridden in to the small cabin that Rebecca called home.  

"Because I wanted you to decide to stay because you wanted Lorelie and I. If you were willing to walk away from us simply because of where we lived then you didn't deserve us."  

"I was scared, Rebecca."  

Rebecca knew it took a lot to get Brantley to admit to fear. She also knew that if there were anyone else around to hear his admission, he never would have made it.  

She rose on her toes to kiss his jaw. "Scared? A big tough outlaw like you?"

Brantley grunted. "I'm not an outlaw anymore, remember? I got a pardon." He blew out a breath that swirled around his head in the cold air. "Let's get in out of this cold. I'll get a fire burning to thaw you ladies out."  

Rebecca loved the feeling of Brantley's hand on her low back as he led her inside. She hoped he would like the cabin. She was sure he would. Every time she had stepped into it in the last few weeks she had thought of that shack they had shared. Did it make Brantley think of that time together as well?

Brantley didn't say a word as he looked around. He headed straight to the wood stove, opened it, added some fresh wood to the glowing ashes inside and soon had flames licking at the open door of the stove.  

Closing it back, he stood straight and looked back at Rebecca. "Why are you still standing in that doorway? Get your backside in here," he urged, snapping her from her nervous trance.  

She quickly stepped further into the cabin and closed the door behind her.  She couldn't explain the awkwardness she felt standing there with Brantley in their home. So often she had dreamed that this would be reality.  

"Stop gnawing on your lip like a damn squirrel," Brantley grumbled before swooping down and letting his lips dance across hers tenderly. "This cabin is perfect, Rebecca. It'll be the perfect place to raise Lorelie."  

Rebecca felt the tension melt from her shoulders. "So, you like it?"  

"I do," he replied, glancing around again. A small sofa sat beside the wood stove and a matching armchair sat beside it. There was a cook stove, a small kitchen table and counters with floral gingham fabric hanging down from them to cover the goods stored beneath.  

There weren't many decorations, Rebecca did have one of her biggest splurges, beautiful copper pots and pans hanging from the ceiling behind the cook stove. And she had bought several paintings of mountain scenery to adorn the walls.  

She was proud of the house she had helped make—and now that Brantley was here she knew it would finally truly be a home.  

Brantley helped her from her coat before hanging it and her gloves, hat and scarf on the hook by the door.  

"I'll go lay the baby down in her crib," Rebecca said as she carried the slumbering infant to main bedroom. She still had Lorelie sleeping in her room with her and would until the girl began sleeping through the night.  

Rebecca could feel Brantley's presence behind her as she went into the room. She unbundled the infant who slept peacefully through it all before laying Lorelie in her crib and covering the girl with a soft, thin blanket.  

Rebecca smiled up at Brantley who was staring hard at the sleeping babe. She left him to his thoughts and stepped into the main room. Her stomach was growling and she was certain Brantley must be hungry as well.  

She donned her apron, grabbed several potatoes from the bin and began to peel them. She became lost in her own thoughts about Brantley and their future. She didn't hear the footsteps coming up behind her until a set of familiar strong arms closed around her middle and Brantley's breath teased her ear.  

"Do you know how often I dreamed of doing this?" he questioned, holding her close.  

Rebecca leaned into his touch. She had dreamed of it too. Dreamed of one day having a home with Brantley and sharing the kind of love that she had seen her mother and father share. It was hers now. She had it.  

He slid his hand down her arm and took the knife from her, placing it on the counter. Brantley spun her around and she could see the hunger in his green eyes.    

She was hungry for him too but she was also nervous. Now that she'd had time to think, she was scared to make love to Brantley once again. Rebecca's body was not the same as it had been when she had shared that shack with the man. Hidden beneath her clothes were extra pounds she'd gained in her pregnancy.. there were marks marring her stomach and breasts—her breasts were heavy and full with milk and not quite as firm and high as he'd remember.  

Swallowing hard, Rebecca slipped under his arm and escaped. "I'm going to go get some meat from the smokehouse. You peel this potatoes so we can have supper. I'm sure you're hungry."  

Without giving Brantley time to respond, Rebecca left the cabin like the chicken that she was.  

---

Brantley grumbled under his breath as he picked up the knife and began peeling potatoes. He was hungry alright but it wasn't for a couple of spuds. He wanted the woman who had just rushed out the door as if her skirts were on fire.  

Was she scared of being with him? Why the devil would that woman be afraid? They had only made love once but Brantley remembered it as being a damn good, life-altering experience—nothing that would cause the woman to fear sharing it with him again.  

Brantley's thoughts were interrupted when Lorelie's cries rang out from the bedroom. The infant was screaming bloody murder and clearly in need of attention.  

He glanced toward the door. It would be a good time for Rebecca to come back in now. The babe continued to cry.  

Damn, that sound was ear-piercing. Brantley put the knife and potato down and wiped his hands on his pants before heading toward the bedroom. Shaking legs carried him unsteadily to the crib and he looked down at the red-faced screaming infant.  

"Shh... be quiet now.." he ordered as gently as he could with that screaming in his ears.  

Clearly being told what to do was not what the girl wanted—apparently she was like her father that way.  

Brantley reached in and patted her gently. "Come on now, Lorelie. Settle down. Your mama will be back in a minute."  

Still no change in that screaming.  

Damn... he was gonna have to pick her up. How exactly did someone go about picking up a babe?

"Where is your damn mama when I need her?" Brantley mumbled.   

His hands were shaking and he was pretty damn sure if someone entered the room they'd hear his knees knocking. Brantley didn't get nervous when he was picking pockets or stealing anything that wasn't nailed down. He didn't get nervous at a poker table full of killer outlaws. He didn't get nervous in a room full of bloodthirsty men looking for any weakness to attack. He didn't get nervous shooting a man in the head or stabbing him in the heart—hell his hands hadn't shaken as he'd cut a man's finger from his body...

But the thought of picking that screaming little babe up out of that crib had him as nervous as if he were handling lit dynamite with one hell of a short fuse.  

"Okay now, little Lorelie, don't cry..." Brantley put a hand behind the girls backside and another behind her head.. he was pretty sure she'd have trouble holding that thing up on her own and he didn't want to be responsible for his daughter snapping her neck.  

Brantley lifted the babe into his arms and stared at that red face. He held her against his chest, cradling her like he'd seen Rebecca do. As he bounced her gently and cooed softly, the little girl began to settle down.  

Within moments she was laying peacefully in his arms as Brantley rocked her gently and whispered. Those blue eyes looked into his and Brantley's heart swelled.  

This was his daughter... He loved her and he loved her mama and there wasn't anywhere else he'd want to be his entire life then wherever they were.  

"I could certainly get used to seeing that," Rebecca's soft voice came from behind him.  

Brantley turned and saw her standing in the doorway with a beautiful smile on her face. Brantley returned the smile.  "I think I could get used to doing this."  

---

Rebecca knew she was running out of excuses to avoid getting in the bed. The cabin was clean, the horses were tended to, Lorelie had been fed and would sleep at least another three or four hours before waking, and it was nearing eleven at night.  

"Rebecca, is there a reason you're avoiding me?"  

Brantley's voice caused her to flush as she chewed at her lip. "I'm not avoiding you."  

"You are." He moved like a predator across the bedroom, lit only by the low-burning oil lamp on the bedside table. "I want you, Rebecca."  

Her legs nearly gave out beneath her and a purely feminine ache of want built low in her belly. She let out a moan as she stepped away from him.  

Brantley paused. "What is it?" His eyes went to the crib then back to her. "Is it too soon? Are you in pain?"

Rebecca shook her head. It had been a month since she'd had the baby and she had no pain. She knew her body was ready for Brantley... but was he ready to see the changes in her body?

Brantley sighed. He went to the bed and sat on the edge to remove his boots. He then unhooked his gun belt and tossed it in the side chair. Standing there in the low light, Brantley fixed her with the hungry gaze of a hunter when it eyes its prey. He held out his hand and hooked his finger, beckoning her closer.  

"Come here, Rebecca."  

She swallowed hard, her mind going back to that night at the shack so long ago when, in the darkness of the porch, Brantley had beckoned her to come to him in much the same manner.  

The corner of his lip quirked upward and he hooked his finger once again. "Come on, now, Rebecca. Get your sweet little ass over here."  

She forgot her fear and trepidations. Her feet took on a mind of their own and she was in Brantley's arms. His hungry lips found hers and Rebecca forgot how to breathe.  

Brantley's lips trailed across her jaw, down her neck and nipped at her collarbones. She clung to the fabric of is shirt, her legs all but disappearing beneath her.  

It took only moments for Rebecca to find herself rid of her clothes and, as Brantley's took in the sight of her, Rebecca's fear returned. Would he be disgusted by the fuller appearance of her stomach and hips? Would he frown at the stretched scars on her hips, stomach and breasts?  

Her heart pounded as she slowly raised her eyes to his and what she saw there stole her breath.  

Hunger. What. Need. Love. Tenderness.  

Not a single ounce of disgust or dislike.  

He took her left hand and kissed the scar where her ring finger once belonged. "Damn brutes," he whispered, his voice low and husky.  

Rebecca smiled, remembering that had been his muttered curse when he'd cleaned her face the day they had met. She rose on her toes and kissed his jaw. Brantley growled and pulled her into his arms, lifting her from the floor before laying her gently upon the bed.  

She watched him as he undressed himself in the low light. Every inch of his body was as hard and strong as she remembered. Muscles bunched and coiled with his movements.  

Brantley grinned. "Enjoying your view?"  

Rebecca returned the grin as she lay upon the bed with her hair wild around her on the covers. "Enjoying yours?"

Brantley growled. "Yes, ma'am."  

When he joined her on the bed and began to love her body, showing her the pleasure that only he had ever given to her, Rebecca realized something.  

And as they lay spent in each other's arms, hours later, she propped herself on her elbow and looked down at him.  

"I found it, finally."  

  Brantley frowned as he moved a lock of sweaty dark hair from her face. “Found what?”

"Happiness, Brantley." She kissed his brow as he squeezed her tighter. "I've found my happiness." 

A/N: Here is the end of ‘Captive Romance’! I truly hope y’all enjoyed it and I am so very very thankful to y’all for having patience as it took me FOREVER to finish this story thanks to the WORST case of writers block i’ve ever had. Almost two years I’ve struggled to write a few words at a time and in the last seven days i’ve pumped out the last half of this story! Thank you again! The next story I’m going to be going back to and (hopefully) finishing is ’The

Survivalist and the Wild Man’ so if you aren’t following, then please follow and add Survivalist and the Wild Man to your library!

Thanks again!

~Nicole